Johnlock Oneshots
by tomatoesonstrings
Summary: What it says. Review xx
1. Wherever you will go Charlene Soria

**Holy cow, this is a new story.**

**Hello. I be tomatoesonstrings. You can call me Rhiannon, but you'll have no idea who I am if you ever do meet me, so there goes that idea. A small number of you might know me for writing Skulduggery Pleasant stuff, this is my very first story without my skeleton (no, I don't own Skulduggery Pleasant, but my god I wish that I did.). **

**These will be a selection of one-shots about Sherlock/John. I don't know when I'll next update, sorry and all that. :) Please review, and check out my other stories, I've written about Skulduggery Pleasant (Valduggery rules.), Professor Layton, Sherlock Holmes and...this. **

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><p><em>So lately, been wandering,<em>

_Who will be there to take my place?_

_When I'm gone, you'll need love_

_To light the smile on your face._

He watched from his usual distance, breathing in the cold London air and the 'case closed' weaving its way through it.

_If a greater wave shall fall _

_And fall above us all_

_Then between the sand and stone_

_Could you make it on your own?_

He tried to stop his gaze wandering off and attaching itself to the ridiculously tall man in the centre of the scene before him. Sherlock Holmes, surrounded by defeated-looking policemen, talking to them in his usual fifty-mile-an-hour pace.

_If I could, then I would_

_I'll go wherever you will go _

_Way up high, or down low_

_I'll go wherever you will go._

He loved him when he did that-deduce everything he needed and claim that it was obvious. That made John Watson smile. He couldn't help calling Sherlock 'fantastic' when he did that.

_And maybe I'll work out_

_A way to make it back someday _

_To watch you, to guide you _

_Through the darkest of your days._

He swallowed back his emotions when Sherlock strolled up in front of him.

'Everything sorted?' John asked.

The detective nodded. 'As much as you can sort the police out without starting a riot.'

John laughed. 'So, are you going to explain "_whodunit_"?'

_Run away with my heart_

_Run away with my hope_

_Run away with my love_

Sherlock shook his head. 'You're too much of an idiot to understand. Come on, home.' He replied swiftly, turning and walking away.

_I know now, just quite how_

_My life and love might still go on_

_In your heart, in your mind_

_I'll stay with you for all of time_

That shouldn't have stabbed John in the stomach, but it did. Sherlock said things like that to him all the time and he never took it to heart, but this time he couldn't help feeling destroyed. And then he did something that he hadn't done for a long time.

_If I could, then I would _

_I'll go wherever you will go _

_Way up high, or down low_

_I'll go wherever you will go_

Sherlock stopped walking, turning his head back to look at John. He frowned. 'John?' John stood still, hanging his head. Sherlock walked quickly back towards him. 'John, why are you crying?' He asked, hands going to Johns shoulders.

_If I could make you mine_

_I'll go wherever you will go _

_If I could turn back time_

_I'll go wherever you will go_

John looked away from him. Crying was rare to him, almost non-existent. Sherlock had never seen him like this, nor did John ever want him to. 'I'm fine.'

'No you're not. What do you want me to do? How can I help?'

'I...'

Sherlock frowned at him. 'John, look at me.'

'Why?'

'Look at me.' Sherlock said again. John did as he was told, his glassy eyes meeting the detectives. Sherlock stared at him, eyes darting to every angle on Johns face, adding up each chunk of data in his head. Eventually, Sherlock bent his head, eyes dipped, mouth open. 'I...am so, so sorry, John. My God, that...what I said must have hurt you.'

'You've worked out how I...feel about you?'

Sherlock simply nodded and looked at him again. 'I didn't mean to not realise.'

'How did you work it out?'

'The slight dilation of your pupils, the rigidness of your shoulders because my hands are on them, the slight nervous twitch in your left eye and the quiver of your bottom lip.' He said quickly.

John laughed gently. Sherlock dipped his head once again, embarrassed. 'Sorry.' He said quietly. John rested a hand on Sherlock's cheek, making him look up. He smiled softly, before pulling on the lapels of his long black coat, kissing him.

_I'll go wherever you will go..._


	2. Stars

'Ooh-ooh!'

John switched the television off and turned his head to look at Ms Hudson standing in the door-frame. 'Hello.'

'Hello, dear. I've got some food for you two for your dinner.' She said, resting the two shopping bags on the long white table in the kitchen.

John nodded his thanks to her. 'I owe you twenty pounds.'

'I'll put it on your rent. Where's Sherlock?'

John frowned slightly. 'I thought he was downstairs with you.'

Ms Hudson shook her head. 'I haven't seen him all day, love.'

John paused, and then nodded. 'Thank you.'

She grinned and pootled off downstairs, leaving John bemused. He looked up at the door, noting the coat-hanger was missing Sherlocks coat and scarf. He grabbed his own coat off of the hanger and jogged downstairs, closing the door behind him.

The night sky washed over John as he walked across Baker Street, silently scanning the area for the six-foot-something consulting detective. After walking aimlessly up and down the street, he went off to the park. There was no one around, just the cold night air and the hoot of an owl for company. Walking slowly through the neat rows of trees and wilted-looking flowers, John kept his eyes on his feet, thinking of nothing in particular.

A distant pair of feet came into view.

John looked up slowly from his thoughts to see a tall man with curly black hair wearing a long black coat a little way in front of him. He had his back to him, head tilted up at the sky.

John sprinted up next to him. 'There you are.'

Sherlock didn't look at him. 'I've noticed.'

John sighed. 'I've been looking for you.'

'How nice.'

'What are you doing here anyway?'

Sherlock nodded up at the sky. John looked up with him. 'You don't see the stars very often in London.' Sherlock explained, 'so I thought I might as well...'

Above them, was a night sky filled with stars. Large, diamond-like and beautiful, it was no wander why Sherlock was slightly dazed by them.

John smiled at them. 'I thought you didn't like stars.'

'Just because you didn't like something, it doesn't mean you can't enjoy it.'

John frowned. 'But you can't enjoy something you don't like...'

'Shush.'

The doctor laughed and looked up at the stars again. He felt Sherlock looking at him.

'Why were you looking for me?' The detective asked.

'Well, Ms Hudson hadn't seen you around and neither had I.'

'Is that it?' Sherlock said, sounding disappointed.

John looked at him. 'Did there need to be a particular reason?'

'No.'

'Well then.'

They both stood in silence for a while, before John said quietly, 'well, there _was_ a reason actually.'

'Hm?'

'...Sarah and I are engaged.'

Sherlocks eyes saddened. His head drooped slightly. 'Oh.'

'Mm.'

'You asked her to marry you?'

'No, she asked me.'

Sherlocks head snapped up to look up at him. 'What!'

'_What_ what?'

'She asked you?'

'Yes.'

'But she's a woman.'

'...Well deduced, Sherlock.'

The detective shook his head. 'But don't the men always ask the women?'

'Not always.'

'But that's not right.'

'God, what year are you from? 1881?'

Sherlock smirked. 'Sometimes I feel like I should be.' He swallowed, 'Does this mean you'll be moving out?'

'Not soon.'

'Ah.' He responded quietly.

Johns heart sank when he saw Sherlocks expression. His left hand started shaking. It hardly ever did anymore, since his post-traumatic stress disorder was progressively being cured by being around Sherlock. The thought of being without him made him uneasy.

Sherlock looked at the doctors shaking hand, and then at him. 'Are you alright?'

'...Yup.'

Sherlock bit his lip, and clutched Johns hand gently. The doctor looked at him.

'Sherlock...'

Sherlock stayed silent, fingers entwined with the man's next to him. He stared at him before almost whispering, 'don't go, John.'

John's mouth hung open slightly, before he leaned against his shoulder. 'You think I want to?'

The detective found himself smiling.


	3. Stars Part 2

**I don't own the song.**

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><p>A firework shot up into the sky above them. Sherlock and John followed it with their eyes as it exploded with noise and colour. Sherlocks ears pricked up when distant music started playing, Tracy Chapman's Fast Car.<p>

John smiled. 'I love this song.'

'Do you?'

'Mm.'

Sherlock hesitated, eyes darting as usual. Still holding on to Johns hand, he spun him round so that they were facing each other.

John raised an eyebrow at him. 'Sherlock, what are you-'

The detectives other hand clung onto the doctors' waist, the other hand holding Johns out to the side. John smiled when he realised what they were doing. 'Dancing.'

'Yes.'

Johns smile turned into a grin as he let Sherlock lead them around in a small circle.

'You can dance?' The shorter man asked.

'Can I?'

'Well, it seems so.'

Sherlock smirked. 'Phew.'

_You got a fast car_

_I want a ticket to anywhere _

_Maybe we can make a deal_

_Maybe together we can get somewhere._

'Sherlock?'

'Mm?'

'You were lying about the whole "asexual thing" weren't you?'

_Any place is better_

_Starting from zero, got nothing to lose_

_Maybe we'll make something_

_But me myself I got nothing to prove._

Sherlock smiled gently. 'I wasn't lying at the time.'

'Sorry?'

The detective bit his lip.

_You got a fast car_

_And I got a plan to get us out of here _

_I been working at the convenience store _

_Managed to save just a little bit of money_

_We won't have to drive too far_

_Just across the border and into the city_

_You and I can both get jobs _

_And finally see what it means to be living._

'Before I met you, I wasn't, that is, I didn't...do anything.'

John stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

'I didn't have anyone, which was...fine.'

'You don't sound so sure about that.'

'That's because I'm not.'

_You see my old man's got a problem_

_He live with the bottle, that's the way it is _

_He says his bodies too old for working _

_I say his body's too young to look like this_

_My mama went off and left him_

_She wanted more to life than he could give _

_I said somebody's gotta take care of him_

_So I quit school and that's what I did._

'To be honest,' Sherlock said, 'I don't actually like to be alone.'

'Oh?'

Sherlock nodded. 'I make out that I'm fine on my own, and I _was_.' He looked into Johns eyes. 'Before I met you that is.'

_You got a fast car _

_But is it fast enough so we can fly away?_

_We gotta make a decision_

_We leave tonight or live and die this way._

'What happened when you met me?' John asked.

Sherlock swallowed. 'Well...'

John smiled up at him. 'Are you blushing, Sherlock?'

'Uh...'

'Have I made the great Sherlock Holmes embarrassed?'

Sherlock tried to hide his reddened face by turning away. John pulled him closer to him.

_I remember when we were driving in your car_

_The speed so fast I felt like I was drunk _

_City lights lay out before us_

_And your arm felt nice wrapped around my shoulder._

Johns eyes met Sherlocks as the detective looked up.

'...John.' Sherlock whispered, leaning forward.

'Yes?'

'Stay there?'

'Why?' John breathed, inches away from Sherlock.

'Because I'm going to kiss you.'

_And I had a feeling I belonged_

_And I had a feeling I could be someone._

Their lips met. Unfamiliar, inexperienced, raw, strange.

And oh-so wonderful.

Sherlocks hand travelled upwards, cradling Johns face. They stood, immersed in absolute bliss, John practically falling into Sherlocks arms. They parted, breathing deeply.

'...Home?' John said.

Sherlock grinned and tugged on Johns hand, walking quickly in the direction of their house. Johns hand felt odd. He looked at it, seeing the engagement ring on his finger. He eyed the fountain beside them.

'Sherlock.'

Sherlock stopped walking and looked back at him, worried. 'What's wrong?'

John nodded at his hand. Sherlock looked at it and dropped his hand like it was on fire. 'Oh.'

'Take my ring off.'

'...Really?'

John nodded. Sherlocks eyes were serious. 'John, are you sure?

'Yes.'

Sherlock hesitated, and slipped it off John's ring finger, handing it to him. John held it, feeling the coldness of it. He turned to the fountain and, without hesitation, let the ring fall into it. Immediately he felt better, more honest, cleaner. He turned back to Sherlock. The detective smiled. 'Are you alright?'

'Yes, I am now.'

Sherlock contained a grin by biting his lip, holding his hand once again.

'My Sherlock.' John said softly, walking with Sherlock once again.


	4. Tears

'Sherlock?' John called out as he closed the door shut with his foot, climbing the stairs to his flat. He stepped in the living room, eyes scanning all over for his flat-mate. 'I'm back from Sarah's.' He called, sighing lightly. He heard uneven footsteps approaching. Sherlock appeared, tired-looking.

'Hello.'

John tilted his head at him. 'Haven't you slept?'

'I'm fine.' Sherlock replied quickly.

The doctor gestured to his own head. 'Your hair's a bit...wild.'

Sherlock instantly ruffled his hair with both hands in his usual fashion. John shrugged to himself and sat down in his arm-chair. He waited.

'Well, Sarah's fine, thank you for asking.' he said at last.

'Oh yeah.' Sherlock said, sitting down on the sofa.

They sat in silence, Sherlock lying on his back, his hands resting under his chin in a pray-position.

'Why haven't you slept?' John asked.

'Because I didn't.'

'Yeah, but why?'

Sherlock stayed silent.

'I'm waiting.' John said impatiently.

'I don't want to tell you.'

John laughed. 'Don't be so childish.'

'I'm not. I just don't want to tell you.'

John waved his hands up in surrender, 'alright, fine.'

Sherlock opened his eyes, mouth opening and closing as if unsure of what to say. 'I missed you. That's why I didn't sleep.'

John blinked. And then blinked again. 'Oh.'

'Mm.'

'I was only gone for the weekend.'

'It felt longer.' Sherlock said, and then bit his lip.

John raised an eyebrow. 'Right.'

'I...didn't mean to say that out loud.'

'I guessed.'

'I'm going to stop talking now.'

'Yup.'

Sherlock swallowed visibly and stood up, stepping up and over the coffee table.

John stood up. 'Where are you going?'

'I need some sleep.'

John put a hand on the detectives chest, making him stop. 'Wait, wait, wait.'

Sherlock gave a sharp intake of breath and looked at Johns hand. 'What.' He said, looking up again.

'What did you mean, "It felt longer than a weekend"?'

Sherlock stepped away from him. 'Nothing.'

'No, tell me.'

Sherlock walked quickly away from him. 'I told you; nothing.'

John frowned. 'What's wrong with you? Why are you acting so strange?'

Sherlock whipped round to look at him. '_Why are you being so blind?_' He shouted.

John stared at him. Sherlock looked at the floor and brushed a hand over his mouth.

'Sherlock?' John said quietly.

Sherlock pursed his lips. 'I...I...um.' He muttered indistinctively. His voice shook.

Johns eyes widened. 'Are you alright?'

'I'm fine.' Sherlock said in an almost whisper, his voice chocked. He screwed up his face slightly, eyes glazing over.

Sherlock Holmes was crying.

'Jesus.' John muttered, setting him and Sherlock down on the sofa. Sherlock started sobbing loudly, leaning his forehead into Johns shoulder.

'I'm...sorry.' He said through his tears.

John wrapped an arm around the sobbing detective. 'Sh, don't apologise.'

'Too...late.'

The doctor laughed, but then his smile fell. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

Sherlock paused, and then raised his head, straightening up. He didn't look at John. 'Because you're straight, you're with Sarah; you don't feel the same-'

John put a hand on the side of Sherlocks face. 'Says who?'

Sherlock breathed deeply, his tears fading. '...John...'

John leaned forward. 'Shut up.' He whispered, as he kissed him. Sherlock moaned, deliriously happy. John parting for air, panting slightly. 'I won't leave you, Sherlock. I never want to leave you ever again.'

Sherlocks eyes were dipped, his smile ever-so-slightly dazed. He kissed him again, murmuring the word "finally" over and over.


	5. Texting

**Just a bit of fun. :3**

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><p><strong>Wed 19th Oct 2011<strong>

** 8:24pm**

-Sherlock, we need you down here at the yard. GL.

**Wed 19th Oct 2011**

** 8:26pm**

-Busy. SH

**Wed 19th Oct 2011**

** 8:28pm**

-Tough, get here now. GL

**Wed 19th Oct 2011**

** 8:32pm**

-I'm busy. SH

**Wed 19th Oct 2011 **

**8:35pm**

-Put your violin down and hurry up! GL

**Wed 19th Oct 2011**

** 8:39pm**

-I'm not playing my violin. SH

**Wed 19th Oct 2011**

** 8:41pm**

-Then what is more important than a case? GL

**Wed 19th Oct 2011 **

**8:44pm**

-None of your business. SH

**Wed 19th Oct 2011**

** 8:45pm**

-If you want John to come along too, then that's fine. GL

**Wed 19th Oct 2011**

** 8:47pm**

-John's busy too. SH

**Wed 19th Oct 2011**

** 8:49pm**

-What are you two doing? GL

**Wed 19th Oct 2011**

** 8:51pm**

-Go away. SH

**Wed 19th Oct 2011**

** 8:53pm**

-Fine. I'll text John. GL

**Wed 19th Oct 2011**

** 8:56pm**

-OH GOD DON'T TEXT JOHN.

**Wed 19th Oct 2011**

** 8:58pm**

-Hi John, Sherlock's being a pain, saying he's busy and all that. Can you convince him to come with you down to the Yard? GL.

**Wed 19th Oct 2011**

** 8:59pm**

-I'm busy. JW

**Wed 19th Oct 2011**

** 9:00pm**

-What the hell are you two doing that's so important?

**Wed 19th Oct 2011**

** 9:02pm**

-Don't ask. JW

**Wed 19th Oct 2011**

** 9:04pm**

-...

**Wed 19th Oct 2011**

** 9:06pm**

-Oh, that is gross. GL.


	6. Morning After

John woke up when he felt Sherlock kissing his forehead. The doctor opened his eyes and smiled lazily up at him.

'Good morning.' The detective whispered.

'Morning.' John replied, yawning.

'Sorry, I woke up and got bored lying here.'

'No, no, it's fine.'

Sherlock propped himself up on one elbow, head resting on his hand. They looked at each other for a long time.

'Thank you.' John said at last.

'For what?'

'This.'

Sherlock smirked. 'What have I done?'

'Well, I believe you just slept with your flat-mate.'

Sherlock laughed. 'I did, didn't I?'

'And the flat-mate couldn't be happier right now.'

Sherlock sighed happily and bent his head, kissing him gently.

And then the doorbell rang.

They both groaned, irritated. Sherlock rolled over and rested his feet on the floor, grabbing his dressing gown in the process, wrapping it tightly around him.

Sherlock opened the door to see a sickeningly-sweet looking Molly.

'Hi!' She said.

Sherlock waited. '...What do you want?'

'Oh, um...' She handed him his scarf. 'You left it in the morgue yesterday.'

He stuffed his scarf in his dressing gown pocket. 'Yes, thank you, bye.' He said quickly, closing the door. Molly stepped forward, putting a hand on the door to keep it open.

'I just thought you might have wanted to see me.'

Sherlock frowned. 'Why would I want to see you?'

'Well, leaving you scarf, casually dropping in your address...'

'So?'

Molly's smile fell. 'Aren't you going to invite me in?'

'No.'

'...Oh.' She said quietly, stepping back.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and closed the door. He heard John walking slowly towards him. 'Who was it?'

Sherlock looked at him. 'Molly.'

'Ah.'

'She came to gie me my scarf,' He explained, stepping towards him. 'Also she thought that I wanted to see her.'

John bit his lip. 'Oh.'

'Yes.'

'Poor Molly.'

'Why? I don't like her.'

John grinned. 'When are you going to learn to get some manners?'

Sherlock wrapped his arms around him. 'Manners are boring.'

'Yeah, along with breathing, sleeping, eating, watching TV, getting a job...'

The detective laughed and kissed his neck. 'It seems so.'

The doorbell rang again. John looked through the glass pane and swore loudly, batting Sherlock away.

'What? Who is it?'

'Sarah.' John replied.

'Oh, crap.' Sherlock said quickly, ducking away from the door. 'Did she see me?'

'I don't think so.'

'You sure?'

'I don't know! Go and got dressed.'

'I am dressed.'

'You're in your dressing gown.'

'And so are you.'

'Just...just, shoo!' John hissed. Sherlock grunted but did as he was told. John swallowed and opened the door. 'Sarah.'

She grinned at him. 'Hi.'

'Sorry, did I organise something?'

'Yeah, coffee.'

John frowned. 'That's not till half-eleven.'

Sarah looked at her watch. 'It is half-eleven.'

The doctors' eyes widened. 'I meant next week.' He lied.

Sarah nodded slowly. 'Oh right. Sorry for waking you.'

'Not at all.'

'I'll see you tomorrow then.'

'Yup.'

She kissed him on the cheek. 'Bye, John.' She said, spinning on her heel and trotting down the stairs.

John quickly shut the door, sighing. Remembering that he was still in his dressing gown, he walked towards his room to get changed.

Sherlock was sitting on his bed, slowly buttoning up his shirt, exposing his torso. John leaned against the door-frame. 'Why do you have to be a man?'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'I'm sorry?'

'Just thinking out loud.'

'Are you not alright about being gay?'

'I don't think I'm gay, I think I'm...Sherlocked.'

Sherlock chuckled.

'And why do you have to be so hot?' John continued.

'...Excuse me?'

'Have you seen yourself? You're bloody gorgeous!'

Sherlock felt himself blushing. 'Th...thank-you.'

John shrugged. 'It's true.'

You're too kind.' He tilted his head at him. 'You remind me of a hedgehog.'

John blinked. 'What?'

'Nothing.'


	7. Keyless

'How the hell did you figure that out?' John fumed, leaning back on the front step of his flat.

Sherlock sighed next to him. 'I thought you might have had your key.'

'-When I specifically told you that I didn't have it!'

'...I thought you were lying.'

'Great, just great. We're locked out of our flat, it's January, it's freezing, and it's your fault for not picking up your key!' John hissed.

'It's not that bad.'

'Yeah, for you, you've got your coat. I haven't.'

'I always wear my coat.'

'Even in the summer?'

'Yes.'

John rolled his eyes. 'God, you're strange.'

Sherlock shuffled whilst sitting. He looked hurt.

John bit his lip. 'Sorry.'

Sherlock sniffed.

'I don't think you're strange,' John continued, 'or weird, or...or a freak.'

The detective nodded. John looked at him, sighing. 'Why do you put up with Sergeant Donavon calling you "freak"?'

'Because it's true.'

'Don't.'

'I'm sorry?'

'You're not a freak, Sherlock.'

Sherlock blinked. '...Really?'

'Really. She's wrong for calling you that.'

Sherlock looked down at his shoes. 'It's not just Sergeant Donavon.'

'What?'

'...It's the whole of Scotland Yard.'

John stared at him. 'Oh, Sherlock.'

'Its fine, it's fine.'

'No it's not.'

'I'm still alive so it's fine.'

'I don't like it.'

'I'm sorry?'

'It doesn't just hurt you. It affects me too.'

Sherlocks mouth hung open slightly. He closed it quickly, 'Why?'

'Because you're...well, um...'

'Continue.'

John looked deep into his eyes. 'I like you, Sherlock. More than I should.'

'What you're saying sounds like you're, um...'

'That's because I am.' John said quietly and rested his hand on the detectives. 'I'm sorry, Sherlock. I've accidently turned gay because of you.'

Sherlock looked at him for a long time, before smiling. 'Good.' he said simply, before slowly leaning towards him, his coat enveloping them both. John felt his eyes closing, his breathing becoming shallow as Sherlock hand went to the doctors' face. They were so close to each other and getting closer, Sherlocks head tilting his head sideways, ready to...

'John?' Came Sarah's voice from in front of them. Sherlock and John sprang away from each other, staring up at her with wide eyes. 'What the hell's going on?' She almost yelled.

Sherlock swallowed and straightened up. 'Well, this is going to be interesting.'


	8. Keyless part 2

John looked at Sherlock, back at Sarah, and then started laughing in a ridiculously high-pitched tone. 'We were just...um...'

'Truth or dare.' Sherlock whispered.

'Good idea.'

Sarah frowned. 'Sorry, what?'

'Truth or dare.'

'What about it?'

'We, that is Sherlock and I...playing truth or dare.'

'How old are you?' Sarah asked, raising an eyebrow.

'We've locked ourselves out of the flat and our land-lady's not here, we got bored.' John explained.

'Who dared you to kiss each other?'

Sherlock racked his brain for a name, any name. '...Skull.'

'What?'

Sherlock shook his head quickly. 'No, not skull.'

Sarah nodded at them. 'Well, go on then.'

John blinked. 'I'm...I'm sorry?'

'Do the dare! You can't back out now.'

Sherlock and John hesitated and then looked at each other.

'Right.' John said. 'Kissing Sherlock Holmes...'

Sherlock swallowed and leaned forward, nervously pressing his mouth against the other mans. John sighed happily as the detective rested a hand on his shoulder. John let his hands travel up, gripping onto the lapels of Sherlocks coat.

'You two?'

Sarah's voice seemed distant.

Johns hand slipped underneath Sherlocks coat onto his waist, pulling him closer.

'John? You can stop kissing him now!'

Sherlock and John parted finally and looked at each other.

'...John.' Sherlock said quietly.

'Sherlock.'

'Hello?' Sarah piped up. They looked at her. 'Come on, John.' She said briskly.

John stood up slowly and stood by her. She held his hand and led him towards a restaurant at the end of the street. John followed her, looked behind him and grinned back at Sherlock shyly, before turning his head back round again.

Sherlock smiled and then bit his lip, slipping his hand into his pocket...fishing out his door key.


	9. Interruptions

**WARNING! Things get steamy so please, please be the right age for this! Someone suggested a part two of 'keyless', I'll do that sometime. **

* * *

><p>Sherlock and John walked slowly through their living room door, closing it behind them. They both slumped heavily onto the sofa, leaning back.<p>

'...We're alive.' John said at last. 'I thought that Moriarty was actually...well, you were there, I don't need to tell you.'

Sherlock nodded. 'I know. Are you alright?'

'Yup.'

'Are you sure? You had a bomb strapped to you.'

'I did, didn't I?'

They sat in silence for a long time. '...I thought I was going to lose you.' Sherlock said.

John looked at him. 'Likewise.'

'I was fine.'

John bit his lip. 'When Moriarty kidnapped me, I...'

'...I'm listening.'

The doctor hesitated. 'All I could think of was not being able to see you ever again.'

Sherlock turned slowly to look at him. 'John...'

John shook his head and stood up. 'Forget I said that.' He said quickly, walking towards the door.

Sherlock sprang up immediately and dashed towards him, spinning him round. John expected Sherlock to be annoyed.

He didn't expect to be kissed by him.

Sherlocks hands cradled Johns' face as the doctor felt his own hands travelling across the other mans chest. John gently bit Sherlocks lip, making the detective moan slightly. Sherlock dragged John back onto the sofa, rolling on top of him. He felt the doctor unbuttoning his black jacket slowly. He responded by trailing kisses across Johns jaw.

'Ooh-ooh!' Came Ms Hudson's voice.

'No.' Sherlock managed to say.

'Can I come in?' She asked from behind the door.

'Go away.'

Johns head tilted towards Sherlocks neck and bit into his porcelin skin. Sherlock swore breathlessly.

'What's going on in there?'

'None...of...your business!'

'It's your brother, dear. He's here to see you-can he come in?'

'Absolutely not.'

'Come on, Sherlock.' Rang out Mycroft's voice. 'Open this door.'

'Jesus.' John whispered.

'Can't I talk to you another time?' Sherlock called.

'I'm very busy, brother.'

'Is...That...a...no?' He answered, unbuttoning Johns shirt, kissing his chest where the buttons were.

'Oh...Sherlock...' John breathed, running a hand though the detectives hair.

'Hurry up, Sherlock!' Mycroft said, 'before I knock this door down!'

'Sherlock.' The doctor said.

'Mm.'

'I think we better open the door.'

'Do we have to?'

'I don't think he have a choice.'

Sherlock groaned and rolled off, standing up. He opened the door a fraction. 'What?'

Mycroft looked at Sherlocks swollen lips, un-tucked shirt and wild hair. He raised an eyebrow. 'I, um, I've got a case for you.' He said whilst handing his younger brother a file. 'All the information needed is enclosed.'

'Bye.' Sherlock said, closing the door. He heard Mycroft smirk and wander off down the corridor.

'I knew it.' He heard him say.

Sherlock smiled to himself and looked back at John. 'Where were we?'

John ran to him, driving him against the closed door, locking him back into a kiss.

Sherlock pulled Johns shirt off the rest of the way, letting it fall. John parted from him and licked his adams-apple, his fingers trailing across the taller mans waist-band. Sherlock arched his back and moaned loudly, before saying unevenly, 'b...bed?'

John grinned and opened the door.

Only to realise that they had both forgotten about Ms Hudson still standing in the corridor.

* * *

><p><strong>Don't say I didn't warn you...<strong>


	10. Relationships

Sherlock smiled to himself as he added a new slide to the labs microscope, peering through it. He didn't bother looking up when he heard footsteps approaching; he knew it was his flat-mate.

'Can we go now?' Asked John, folding his arms. 'I don't like morgues.'

Sherlock smirked. 'Ironic, since you're a doctor.'

'Morgues are for the people doctors couldn't save.'

The taller man grunted and placed a steady hand over the microscope, zooming in. 'We're not going until I'm finished.'

'Why can't the actual forensic scientists do all this?'

'Because they're all useless.' Sherlock replied simply, like it was obvious. 'Anyway, Sergeant Donavon wants this done quickly.'

John tilted his head at him. 'You and Donavon...'

Sherlock became very still. '...I'm sorry?'

'You two have a history, don't you?'

Sherlock hesitated, and then relaxed again. '...How did you know?'

'I learn from the best.'

The detective smiled for a second, before letting it fade. 'Well, you're correct.'

John leaned against the counter. 'What happened?'

Sherlock looked at him, and then back into the microscope. 'It was a few years ago.'

'Mm.'

'...When I first became a consulting detective, I was still vaguely interested in...Well, _all that_.'

John nodded and waited for him to continue.

'It just so happened that Sergeant Donavon made it nice and obvious that she liked me.'

'Was that such a problem?'

'For me, yes.'

'Well, why's that?'

Sherlock looked at him, slowly raising an eyebrow.

'...Okay then.' John said quietly.

'I didn't mind at the time, so we...went out together.' Sherlock finished his sentence with slight disgust.

'Right.'

'Things were dull, but she seemed happy so we stayed in a relationship.'

'...But?'

'But then she wanted to, um...' he rolled his shoulders back, '...move things along, as it were. I didn't want to. She insisted, but then she...found out that I...'

John frowned. 'Wha-'

Sherlock swallowed and looked away.

The doctor felt his heart skip a beat. His frown disappeared. 'You're a virgin.'

The detective nodded silently.

'Oh, Sherlock.'

'When she found out, she left.'

'I...' John began, 'I didn't...'

'Speak clearly, John.'

'How old are you?'

He didn't answer.

'Sherlock.'

'I'm thirty-five.'

John stared at him. 'And you've still never...?'

Sherlock sighed. 'No.'

'Why not?'

'Because I don't like people.'

John bit his lip, daring himself. 'Do you like me?'

Sherlock paused. 'Excuse me?'

John stepped towards him. 'You said you didn't like people-'

'You're an exception.' He looked at him. 'You're my only exception.'

They stared at each other for a long time, melting into each other's eyes.

'Sherlock...'

Sherlock stood up quickly, straightening the lapels of his jacket. 'I think we're all done here.' He said quickly, walking towards the door.

'Um...' John began.

Sherlock spun around to look at him. 'What?'

John opened his mouth, though no words came out.

_Say it, say it, say it, say it!_

He shook his head. 'Nothing.'


	11. Violin

**Because I love Emilie Autumn...**

* * *

><p>'Sherlock?' John asked wearily, opening the living room door slowly. 'Are you shooting anything?'<p>

'No.'

John sighed in relief and opened the door the rest of the way. Sherlock was lying on the sofa on his front, one of his long arms dangling off the edge.

John rolled his eyes at him and leaned against the fireplace. 'Bored?'

'Mm.' Sherlock replied, his face squashed into a pillow.

'Then phone Lestrade, get a case.'

'I have. All the cases are dull.'

'If it stops you from being bored...'

'I solved most of them in my head.'

'Then why didn't you tell Lestrade who did it?'

'Because that's no fun.'

John rubbed his eyes. 'I don't know; go play the violin or something.'

Sherlock groaned. 'I'm bored of the violin. I've learned everything.'

'...Everything?'

'Yes, Everything!' The detective replied loudly.

'Alright, no need to shout!' John frowned at him. 'Take your face out of that cushion, you're going to suffocate.'

'It's not a cushion, it's a pillow.' Sherlock muttered, but sat up, his hair a mess.

'Do you want me to entertain you or something?' John asked.

'By doing what...' They looked at each other silently, before the doctor coughed loudly.

'Why don't you take up a new instrument?'

'Absolutely not.'

'...Why?'

'Because I love the violin.'

'I know, but you could learn something else as well.'

'No.'

'Fine, fine.' John said quietly, shaking his head. And then he had an idea. 'Your birthday's next week, isn't it?'

'...Yes.'

'I've gotta go out.' John said, grabbing his coat.

'What? Why?'

The shorter man smiled at him. 'Surprise.' He said simply, before disappearing out of the door.

* * *

><p>Sherlock yawned as he shrugged on his jacket, wandering into his living room. John was at Sarah's. Ms Hudson was away for the weekend.<p>

Yet another birthday alone.

Sherlock sniffed at the thought and sat down heavily on Johns chair. He felt something...different about this room today. His eye fell on where his violin sat. Beside it was a black oddly-shaped box, topped with a blue ribbon.

Sherlock blinked at it and picked it up carefully, examining it.

Was it a bomb?

Had Moriarty sent him a bomb in an oddly-shaped box for his birthday?

Fearing the worst, Sherlock gingerly lifted the lid.

Inside was a bright white electric violin. Intricately curved into a large 'S' shape, with a resemblance of a magnifying glass on the neck and scroll. At the bottom left corner was Sherlock Holmes' signature in jet black.

Sherlock stared at it, open-mouthed. He found himself smiling ridiculously wide. He looked in the side compartment of the box to discover a black violin bow and a note. He brought out the note.

_'To stop you being bored_.'

Sherlock smirked and then opened it. He recognized Johns hand-writing immediately.

_Sherlock,_

_So sorry I'm not here today. Believe me, I wanted to be so much, but Sarah insisted that I saw her today. I hope this is enough to stop you killing yourself/the wall anytime soon. This is just a fraction of my way of saying thank you for all the madness you've brought into my life for however long we've lived together for. Without you, I honestly don't know what I would be doing now. Not to get all soppy, but you have no idea how much you mean to me. Sorry to say this, but I have fallen for your strange habits, your odd little routines, just you in general. Hopefully I'll see you tonight if I can detach myself from this bloody woman. _

_Happy Birthday Sherly,_

_John._

Sherlock smiled down at the note before folding it up and tucking it into his breast pocket, over his re-awakened heart.

* * *

><p>John brought out his mobile phone as it beeped loudly.<p>

November 18th 2011

10:38am

-Thank you. SH.


	12. Eat something!

**WARNING! THINGS GET STEAMY!**

**This fanfic was inspired by dacoolcat's picture 'Get some sleep, Sherlock!' on deivantart. Please check 'em out. **

* * *

><p>Sherlock really needed to eat something. It had been two days now and the detective hadn't so much as looked at any sort of food.<p>

John Watson inspected Sherlock over his usual cup of afternoon tea. He's getting ever so thin, He thought to himself as the taller man shrugged off his coat.

'Sherlock.'

'Hm?'

'Can you please eat something today?'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him, like eating was the most idiotic thing he had heard of. 'I don't need to.'

'Look at yourself; you might as well be a skeleton!'

Sherlock tilted his head and spun round to look in the mirror. 'What's wrong with the way I look?'

'No, nothing. It's your lack of weight that's a problem.'

'I'm perfectly fine.'

John walked towards him and gently poked his flat-mates face. 'I can see your cheek-bones.'

Sherlock stepped away from him. 'You could always see my cheek-bones.'

'Yeah, exactly; do something about it.'

'Like what?'

'By eating something!'

'No.'

'Oh my God, I give up!' John sighed, walking away.

Sherlock smirked at him. 'That's what I thought.'

* * *

><p>Later that day, and still no sign of anything edible inside Sherlocks stomach.<p>

John sat on the sofa, a book in his hand. Sherlock was leaning against the fireplace, reaching for his phone in his breast pocket. He frowned and frisked himself.

'Where's my phone?'

'Sorry?' John asked, not looking up from his book.

'My phone. Where?'

The doctor shrugged. 'I don't know.'

Sherlocks eyes narrowed as he took a step towards the sofa. 'Do you know where it is?'

'No.'

They both heard Sherlocks phone ring out, coming from John's direction. He reddened.

Sherlock bolted towards him. 'You've got my phone!'

John dropped the book and stood up. 'No I don't.'

'You're a terrible liar. Give it back.' Sherlock said, holding out his hand for it.

John grabbed his wrist roughly and pulled, jerking Sherlock towards him. 'You can have it back when you eat something.'

Sherlock looked into his eyes and pulled his hand back. 'I am not a child.'

'Keep telling yourself that.' John muttered. The phone stopped ringing.

Sherlock snarled and lunged at him, wrestling his way to his pockets. John batted him away unsuccessfully. 'You'll get it back when you eat!'

'That call could have been of dire importance!' The detective practically shouted, driving John backwards.

And that's when Sherlock tripped over his own feet, sending him and John falling on to the sofa...Sherlock directly on top of him, straddling his hips with his long arms either side of the shorter mans shoulders.

They stared at each other, open-mouthed, too surprised to speak.

'...Oh...' John said eventually.

Sherlock stared down at him, drinking in every centimetre of him. He swallowed visibly and looked away at last. 'Sorry.' He said quietly, beginning to stand up.

Johns hand went to his shoulder. 'Sherlock.'

Sherlock stopped moving at looked back at him.

'...Please...' John whispered.

That was enough for Sherlock. He immediately locked his lips against Johns, admiring how well they seemed to fit against each other. John sighed happily and ran his hand through the detectives' dark hair with lazy desire. Sherlock felt all his own defences crumble when Johns tongue shot out, running it slowly across his bottom lip, causing a panted moan to escape. He parted, trailing kisses across Johns jaw down to his neck. Johns breathing became ragged, un-tucking Sherlocks white shirt and letting his fingers caress the skin underneath in small circles.

They parted for air, panting.

'I...need this...' Sherlock murmured. 'I need...I need you.'

'Oh, Sherlock...'

'Do you, do you want to...'

'Oh, God, yes.'

Sherlock smiled.


	13. Lisp

**Sorry it's a bit short! Inspired by akisura12's drabble, and by the a.d.o.r.a.b.l.e fact that Benedict Cumberbatch has a lisp :D If you haven't realised by now, I am taking requests, so please feel free :)**

**(Set during 'The Blind Banker')**

* * *

><p>'No, no, no!' Sherlock hissed, his face contorting into a confused frown, beating the wads of paper against his forehead. 'If the cipher isn't Greek, Hebrew, Jewish or hieroglyphic, then the next option would be Chinese.'<p>

John yawned and nodded. 'Mm.'

'I've looked through the whole of the Chinese dialect; found out that it's a number, and now what?'

'I don't know.'

'It doesn't make any sense!'

'If you say so.'

'If we could only find,' Sherlock continued at lightning speed. 'Whatever the killer was looking for, and that he or she killed the victimth-'

John sat up and looked at him. 'What did you say?'

Sherlock frowned at him slightly. 'I said that it would give us a clear lead as to why he or she killed the victims.'

'You said "victimth".'

Sherlock swallowed visibly. '...Did I?'

John felt himself smiling. 'Do you have a lisp, Sherlock?'

'...Sometimes.' He said quietly.

The doctors' eyes sparkled. 'Really?'

'Is that a problem?'

'That is probably the most adorable thing I've ever heard of in my life.'

Sherlock blushed. '...Okay.'

'How come I've never heard it before?'

'I thought I had grown out of it. I only seem to have it when I talk really quickly, or on some certain words.'

An idea cropped up within John's mind. 'Say "spider".'

Sherlock shook his head quickly. 'No.'

'Go on!'

'No!'

'Please?'

'...Thpider.'

John grinned wildly. 'Ha! Oh, Sherly!'

'Shut up.'

'That is unbelievably cute!'

'How nice.'

'I wanna give you a hug now!'

Sherlock blinked at him, and shyly held out his arms. 'Okay then.'


	14. Brilliant

'John.'

Shuffle, shuffle.

'John.'

'Mh.'

'John.'

John opened one eye lazily, to see someone sitting on his bed, poking the doctor's temple. John sat bolt-upright. 'Jesus!'

'Ah. You're awake.'

He recognized that voice. John blinked a few times until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. 'Sherlock.'

'Hello.'

'What time is it?'

John saw Sherlock glance at his watch, and then looked back at him. '1:19am.'

John groaned and flopped back down again. 'Why are you in my room? Get back to yours and sleep!'

'I'm bored.'

John groaned. 'Sherlock!'

'But I am.'

'Then go to sleep and come back in about seven hours.' John replied and closed his eyes.

There was silence, until Sherlock shifted loudly on the bed and sighed dramatically.

John looked at him. 'You're still here?'

'Well done.'

Go. Away. I'm trying to sleep. Sleep's good, try it sometime. Like, now.'

'John.'

'No.'

'I'm bored.'

'I know.'

'I'm bored, though.'

'Piss off.'

'Entertain me.'

John raised an eyebrow at the consulting detective. 'What?'

'Entertain me, please.'

'That's ridiculous.'

'And so is boredom.'

'So what do you want me to do? Sing? Dance? Juggle kittens?'

'Talk to me.'

'What? What about?'

Sherlock shrugged and fiddled with the tie on his dressing-gown. 'About things.'

'Like what?' John asked, propping himself up on his elbows.

'Like you. How's your life been so far?'

John stayed silent.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow to himself. 'That good, eh?'

'Which bit of my life are we talking about?'

'I wasn't being specific.'

'Oh. Well, you know.'

'I don't, actually.'

John tilted his head at him. 'Hm?'

'Well, for example; I don't know about your history.'

'...Oh.'

Sherlock looked down at his hands and shook his head. 'You don't have to tell me anything. I'm just curious.'

'No, it's fine.' John replied, and then coughed. 'When I qualified as a doctor, and a soldier, I didn't see any point in waiting around so I joined the army. Leaving everyone, though there weren't many people in my life in the first place, behind. I liked the thought of starting again with everything.'

Sherlock stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

'I went to Afghanistan, and believe me when I say it this, it was the most terrifying thing I have ever done, and probably will ever do.'

Sherlocks eyes flickered onto Johns and locked onto them.

'I had...I had a friend, on the battlefield, William, his name was. He was...he got shot, right in front of me. I tried to save him, I honestly, honestly tried but...he...well, you're clever, I don't need to explain. After that, I got shot in my shoulder and then my leg went all wrong. The rest you know, you were there at the time.'

Sherlock nodded oh-so-slightly. 'And then you met me.'

'Mm.'

The detective swallowed. '...Are you alright?'

'Not really.'

'What do I do when people are sad?'

John sighed. 'Well, _you_ normally ignore people when they're upset. What you're_ meant_ to do is, I don't know, give them a hug, say some crap, that kind of thing.'

Sherlock nodded and bit his lip. '...Can I...?' He gestured to the space next to John in the bed. John shrugged and shuffled slightly towards one side of the bed. Sherlock folded himself in bed beside him. They looked at each other awkwardly, not too sure as to what to do next. Eventually, Sherlock wrapped an arm around Johns shoulder, gently pulling him closer.

'You're okay. Everything's okay now. I'm here.' Sherlock said softly.

'Things did actually get better once you showed up.'

Sherlock looked down at him, blinking with lazy eyes. '...Really?'

'Really.'

'Right.' Sherlock hesitated. '...What do I do now?'

John rolled one shoulder back. 'Well, you could say; "that's nice", or you could frown and run away, or you could smile and say nothing...' He looked up at him. '...Or you could kiss me.'

Sherlock stared at him, eyes dipped. 'I like the fourth option.'

'Me too.'

They looked at each other for a long time, before Sherlock smiled gently and bent forward, pressing his lips against the doctors. John's eyes closed as he wrapped an arm around Sherlocks waist, pulling him closer towards him. They parted finally, eyes closed, foreheads pressed together. They breathed deeply, smiling to themselves.

'...Wow.' John whispered. 'You're a good kisser.'

Sherlock laughed airily. 'Thanks.' He said, and purposefully fell back onto the bed, John falling beside him.

They looked at each other with tired eyes, Sherlock caressing Johns cheek with his thumb. John smiled, sleep drawing near. He closed his eyes.

'Sherlock...'

'Mm?'

'You're brilliant...' He whispered, before falling asleep.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile.


	15. Snow

**I don't care if it's only the tenth. IT'S CHRISTMAS TO ME NOW.**

**Sorry, it's very cheesy and slightly OOC**

* * *

><p>'Sherlock!' John called out, slamming his front door shut. He scaled the stairs swiftly, panic rising in his stomach.<p>

He threw open the door to find a stroppy-looking consulting detective sprawled out on the sofa in his "thinking" position.

'You took your time.' Sherlock said, not looking over at his flat-mate.

John stared at him. 'You're fine!'

'Yes. Why wouldn't I be?'

'In your text, you said the flat was on fire.'

'Mhm.'

'And?'

'And I was lying. Aren't you relieved?'

'...What? I don't even-'

'It's Christmas Day, I wanted to see you. You couldn't stay at Sarahs all day.'

John raised an eyebrow. 'You saw me this morning. You gave me a jumper, I gave you a blue scarf with a skull on it.'

'I know.'

'So why do you want to see me now?'

'Because.'

'...Because what?'

Sherlock snapped his eyes open. 'Walk?' He said simply, stepping up and over the coffee table.

The doctor blinked at him. '...I'm sorry?'

'Walk. Yes? No?'

'...It's snowing outside, Sherlock.'

'Well done.' Sherlock replied, throwing on his coat and scarf. 'Come on, it's Christmas.'

'Yeah, exactly. Who goes for a walk in the evening on Christmas Day?'

'Us. Come on.'

* * *

><p>The ice winds bit into Sherlock and John as they strolled across London. Fireworks lit up the night and loud drunks darkened the mood. In an attempted effort to escape the drunken debotchery, Sherlock and John walked briskly to the Thames. Sherlock placed his hand on the railing and peered into the dark water.<p>

'So.' John said quietly.

Sherlock smiled to himself and tilted his head. 'I wander how long a fully-functioning body could survive underwater?'

John stepped towards him, grabbing onto the back of Sherlocks coat. 'Don't!'

'I wasn't going to. I'm just thinking aloud.'

He stood up straight and looked at John. The doctor let go of Sherlocks coat immediately and looked away. The detective frowned at him slightly.

'Are you alright?'

'Why wouldn't I be?'

'Is that a "yes"?'

'Yes, that's a "yes".'

'Good.'

'Mm.'

John leaned against the railing, trying to not to meet Sherlocks gaze. He shivered. The taller man looked at him up and down.

'Are you cold?'

'No, it's just...well, my hands.'

'...Are they cold?'

'Sort of.'

Sherlock nodded, swallowed, and then raised a hand towards his mouth. John looked at him, to see Sherlock slowly removing his gloves by biting the ends of each finger, pulling lightly with his teeth. He looked at John as he did this, making him blush. He did the same to the other glove, before stepping closer towards John.

'Here.' He said quietly, handing them to him.

John shook his head. 'No, they're yours. Put them back on, I'll be fine.'

Sherlock sighed and stepped even closer towards him. He lifted one of the shorter mans hands, gently fitting one of the gloves on it. He did the same to the other hand. 'You need them more than I do.' He insisted. He looked at John, still holding on to one of his hands. They stared at each other, drinking in every centimetre of the other.

Sherlock started humming to himself. John frowned slightly.

'What are you singing?'

'Undisclosed desires.'

John smiled at him, and then hesitated. '...Can I hug you?'

Sherlock laughed. 'You may.'

John instantly wrapped his arms around the detective's neck, having to stand on tip-toes to reach. Sherlock and held on to the small of Johns back, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Eventually they, parted, but carried on holding onto each other. Sherlocks eyes dipped, as he bent his head.

Their kiss was spontaneous. A door unlocked within both of them for those brief moments. Nothing could touch them, in this bubble of sheer bliss. Sherlock stopped for air.

'...I, um...' Sherlock began.

John cupped his face in his hand. 'Shut up.' He whispered, kissing him again.

Sherlock closed his eyes, immersed in perfection. He placed a hand back onto John's waist.

They stood there as the snow set around them, fireworks exploding above them.


	16. Human Being

**Oh look. Another violin one. **

**The piece that Sherlock's playing is 'Face The Wall' By Emilie Autumn. Sorry, I'm not a violinist, so if any of the technical stuff is wrong, don't blame me.**

* * *

><p>'Oh, Jesus!' John almost shouted over the noise. 'Please, for the love of God, put the violin down!'<p>

Sherlock stopped strangling a cat, (or at least that's what it sounded like) and peered out of the living room door, trying to find a body to go with the voice. 'I'm sorry?' He called back.

John poked his head over the banister.

'Can you put your violin away? It sounds like you're killing something down there.'

Sherlock looked up at him, trying not to seem hurt. 'Oh.'

John sighed loudly. 'Look, just shut up for five minutes, alright?' He said quickly, before disappearing back into his room.

Sherlock stayed still, before strolling back inside the living room. He stood in the centre of the room, looking down at the violin in his hand. He found himself smiling as he raised the instrument, tucking it under his chin.

John snarled quietly as he heard that god damn violin rev up again. He practically threw the book he was reading on his bed and stomped downstairs.

'Right.' He said sharply as he entered the living-room, shooting out a hand towards the violin in his flat-mates grasp. 'That's it-'

Sherlocks cat-strangling violin playing changed dramatically into a three note rhythm. He played it over and over again, getting faster each time. John stared at him, fixating on this utter wonder. Sherlocks fingers moved at an impossible pace, changing what he was playing into a yo-yoing fast and slow piece with the flick of his wrist. The smile had vanished from his porcelain face, and was replaced with the spectacle of pure concentration. John looked at the man before him, lowering his arm slowly. It was hard to tell if Sherlock even knew that John was standing right in front of him-he seemed to be disconnected from the rest of the world.

The sociopath and his violin.

In his own world where no one could touch them.

John felt a tear roll down his cheek as Sherlock closed his eyes and arched his body forward, feeling every note, filling the air with electricity. The song became lower and slower, each chord being relished before the next one was played. Sherlock picked up the pace, going from low to high and back again in an unreal race of music. He finished abruptly, dropping the violin and the bow onto the floor as if they were on fire. He looked down at them, as John looked upwards as the breath snagged in his throat. Sherlock looked up at him with confused eyes.

'You're crying.' He tilted his head. 'Why are you crying?'

'I...I don't really know.' John said quietly. They laughed gently, before John plucked up the courage to look at the detective. '

'That...that was...'

Sherlock stayed silent, eyes locked onto John. John sighed. 'Okay, this is going to sound really odd, but...'

'Go on.'

The doctors' shoulders sagged. 'You are the most beautiful human being, Sherlock Holmes.'

Human.

Sherlock paused, blinked a few times and then wrapped his arms around John.

'Call me Sherly.' He said softly.


	17. Under the Table

**Happy New Year!**

* * *

><p>Grumble, grumble, moan, god-damn Mycroft and his god-damn family lunch, grumble, grumble.<p>

'Sherlock,' John called, walking into the living-room, 'can I borrow some-' He raised an eyebrow. '...well, you look happy.'

Sherlock was sitting upside-down on Johns chair with his arms folded and feet in the air, looking ridiculously annoyed.

John shook his head and leaned against the doorframe. 'That can't be comfortable.'

'You'd be surprised.' Sherlock mumbled.

'Do you want me to ask "what's wrong"?'

'Yes.'

'What's wrong? Besides your blood rushing to your head, making you dangerously close to getting a nose-bleed.'

Sherlock grunted and swivelled himself the right way up on the chair, tucking his knees under his chin. 'Mycroft has invited me to a new year's lunch thing at his stupidly big house.'

John nodded. 'I see.'

'I'm not going.'

'Why not?'

'I don't like him, he doesn't like me- I refuse.'

John tilted his head and sighed. 'Sherlock.'

'What.'

'You have to go and see him some time.'

'No I don't.'

'Yes you do. Who else is going?'

'No one. Just him and that woman who follows him around all the time.'

'You mean Anthea?'

Sherlock blinked at him. 'You know her name?'

John hesitated. 'Well, no. That's the fake name she told me.'

'Ah.'

There was a long pause, before John said, 'so, you're going, then.'

Sherlock snarled and buried his face in her knees. 'No!'

'Oh, come on! How bad can it be?'

'Really, really bad.'

'What if I went with you?'

Sherlock went silent, before looking up at him. 'I'm sorry?'

'I'll go with you, if it's that bad.'

'...Really?'

'Really. I don't see why you don't like Mycroft; he's a bit intimidating, but he's not awful.'

'You have no idea.'

John rolled his eyes and stood up straight. 'I'll order the cab then.'

'No need-Mycroft's probably organised his chauffer to pick us up.'

John exhaled air loudly. 'Wow.'

* * *

><p>'Welcome.' Mycroft said in his usual patronising slur, as Sherlock and John stepped out of the car. John smiled at him quickly, before turning his attention to the manor house before them. Mycroft's home was just as grand and elegant as he thought it would be; square stone walls, a gravel pathway leading to it, neat rows of trees either side of the house.<p>

Sherlock glanced at Mycroft, before looking past him. 'How long do we have to stay for?'

Mycroft smirked. 'You leave when you learn to behave-you might be staying a long time then.'

Sherlock grunted and followed his brother inside the house.

As soon as John entered the manor, he instantly felt out of place. Everything there seemed to have been made of the highest quality material money could buy. He stared up at the gap in the banister-the staircase appeared to go on forever.

Sherlock shrugged off his coat and scarf, dropping them onto the floor. Mycroft sniffed but didn't say anything, slithering off towards what looked like the dining-room.

Sherlock stepped towards John. 'How am I supposed to know what to do with your coats here? There aren't any coat-hangers.' The taller man said.

'What, so you just drop it on the floor, when there's a banister right next to you?'

'Problem?'

John sighed and looked back at his surroundings. 'What does your brother do again?'

'Something to do with the British Government.'

John nodded. 'He must get paid quite a bit.'

'If you're talking about the house, he didn't buy it.'

'Oh?'

'He inherited it. He inherited a lot of the money he has now as well.'

John looked at him. 'Then what did you get?'

Sherlock looked at him for a long time in silence before turning and walking in the direction Mycroft went. 'Come on, John.'

The dining-room had the feeling of being the most expensive and extravagant room in the manor. Gold and pastel colours lined the walls, giving everything an air of sophistication. In the centre of the room was a long, thin ebony table, food mounted onto each set place around it.

Mycroft had sat down at one end of the table, with Anthea very, very far away at the other head of the table. Sherlock and John sat down opposite each other near Mycroft.

Mycroft smiled at them. 'Please begin.' He said, picking up his cutlery and digging in. Sherlock glared down at the roast dinner in front of him.

His brother looked up at him. 'I haven't poisoned it, Sherlock.'

'Oh.' Sherlock said, slowly pushing the food around his plate with his fork.

Mycroft asked a few quiet questions about what cases they were on and how Ms Hudson was doing.

John felt Sherlock becoming increasingly more bored by the second; thank god Mycroft didn't have a gun handy. The question-answer parade carried on for another incredibly dull twenty minutes. John fought a yawn and nodded in reply to whatever the hell Mycroft just said. Occasionally the doctor caught Sherlocks eyes on him. John ignored it and waited until Mycroft looked down at his plate before glaring back at the detective.

'What?' John mouthed at him. The dark-haired man crossed his legs to mimic John and smirked. He turned his head to look at his brother.

'Mycroft-have you spoken to our uncle recently?' Sherlock asked...and slowly started running his foot up and down Johns leg under the table.

John's eyes widened as he dropped his fork in surprise. The two Holmes' looked at him.

John swallowed. 'Sorry-my, uh, hands are a bit shaky at the moment.' He lied.

Mycroft smiled at him vaguely and carried on talking to the man who was now stroking the doctors' foot with his own.

John felt light-headed. _What?_ _Why is he doing this? Is he so bored that he's resorted to touching his flat-mate up under the table? _A thought struck him. _Or maybe there's something more to it that just that_. He smiled devilishly to himself; _two can play at that game_.

Sherlock continued listening to Mycroft, raising his eyebrows for a millisecond when John's foot started riding up the detective's trouser-leg.

John grinned to himself as Sherlock swallowed visibly, giving him a fleeting glance. Sherlock nodded mindlessly at Mycroft's monologue whilst footsing his flatmate. As soon as Mycroft looked down at his plate again, Sherlock immediately ran a finger around the side of his own plate. He looked at John as he slowly licked the gravy off his fingers slowly.

John went red, doing his best to keep his cool.

Mycroft's phone buzzed. He frowned and fished it out, reading the text on the screen. He smirked and tucked it back into his pocket. 'Can you stop playing footsie under my table, please.'

Sherlock mouth hung open, his eyes narrowing- a look that was never seen on him unless he was very, very annoyed.

John stared at Mycroft. 'Wha-'

Mycroft nodded to the other end of the table. Anthea looked up at them and smiled, waving her mobile phone at them.


	18. Tick Tock

**WARNING! SERIES TWO SPOILERS AND SOME STEAMINESS!**

* * *

><p>Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.<p>

All day, he watched the clock ticking away far too slowly for his liking. He knew why he was watching. He was waiting for the day the clock rewinds. He waited for the day time would be kind to him and rewind back to the day three years ago.

John Watson sank back in his arm-chair, replaying those moments over and over again until his mind became numb from the pain every second carried. Nothing felt correct anymore without that..._that man_. That part machine-part human being. Ms Hudson offered her help in 'pulling through this', as she calls it, but it didn't work, simply because he didn't want it to. He'd been in a situation like this before and he never wanted to go down that route ever again. But now he had and...Well, that wasn't where he wanted to be.

Visitors were rare to him on the best of times-after the funeral, visitors with tear-stained faces offering vague words of sympathy wafted in and out of the flat. He ignored all of it, slipping away into his thoughts whenever he could. He slept in broken intervals, his dreams distorting those last precious moments of _that man's_ life in to a twisted fantasy.

He was sleeping lightly, until he heard the front door open and close. His eyes snapped open, the shock of waking up so quickly made his chest heave. He rolled on to his side to check the time. Twenty past midnight. He frowned. Ms Hudson was away for the weekend, so it wasn't her. John sighed and settled back down. He must be going mad.

The kettle's boiling.

John's eyes opened again. Propping himself up on his elbows, he strained his ears and stopped breathing to try and hear.

The kettle's stopped boiling.

Climbing cautiously out of bed, he grabbed his gun from the drawer and made his way out of the door. The stairs creaked far too loudly against the silence as he made his way downstairs. He heard someone in the living room.

John reached the hallway, his blood pumping through his ears loudly.

_Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God._

He leaned towards the living-room door, gun by his side. His hand was shaking now, fear giving him adrenaline.

3...

2...

1.

John marched into the living-room, gun raised out in front of him.

The tick-tock suddenly stopped in his mind. He stood still in utter silence.

There, sitting at the desk with a cup of tea in front of him, illuminated by the light of the moon, was Sherlock Holmes.

The same as he always looked; coat-collar turned up, blue scarf wrapped around his long, pale neck. The way he slouched slightly in his seat to compensate for his height. The way he spun the tea-cup around in its saucer with those long, splendid fingers. The way his foggy-coloured eyes fixated on nothing. It was all there.

John stepped back slightly. He clasped the gun tightly in his hand, feeling its coldness. He had to be dreaming. John breathed in sharply, eyes closed.

'You're not dreaming, John.'

His voice. John's eyes opened, not hearing something so wonderful in almost three years. Soft, deep, velvet-like, grazed.

Johns head spun. He dropped his gun to the ground. 'You're alive.'

Sherlock nodded. 'I never died.'

'You're okay.' John said dully.

The detective stood up. 'I am.'

John lunged at him, grabbing the front of his coat and pinning him against the wall. 'You were dead, Sherlock! You died, right in front of me and now you're alive_! Do you know how that makes me feel?_!' John bellowed.

Sherlock stayed silent, looking at the ground. Johns face contorted into pure rage. 'Say something!'

Sherlock looked up at him slowly. 'I'm sorry.'

John laughed bitterly. 'You're _sorry_? For what? The lies? The death? What?'

'I had to die, or at least pretend to, or they would have killed you!' Sherlock said quickly.

John fell silent, before saying a quiet, 'three years.'

'I know.'

'Three years of...' John looked at their shoes. 'It hurts, Sherlock.'

Sherlock looked faintly disgusted. 'You think it didn't hurt me not being able to see you? I knew I couldn't because you'd just end up in danger again.'

John looked up at him. '...You're here.'

Sherlock nodded. John sighed and then hesitated, loosening his grip. 'Take your coat off.'

Sherlock frowned slightly and blinked. 'I'm...sorry?'

The doctor stepped back slightly to let Sherlock move. 'Please, just take your coat and scarf off.'

Sherlock paused, giving John an inquisitive look before stepping past him. John spun round to look at the detective as he strolled towards the door. With his back to him, Sherlock unbuttoned his coat and shrugged it off. He hung it up on the doors coat-hook before slipping off his scarf in one swift movement, hanging it over his coat. He turned back to face John. The doctor looked at him up and down, opening his mouth to say something, but ended up just leaning against the wall.

_My God, I've missed him_. Elegantly tall and thin, with the smallest danger of always being too thin. Still as pale as John remembered him; ivory-skinned, his neck and top of his chest exposed with his top two shirt buttons undone. John's eyes travelled downwards, past Sherlocks tight shirt, and stopping at his legs.

Sherlock coughed. 'Um...'

John's eyes snapped up to look at Sherlocks...oh, God, Sherlocks _mouth_. The strongest cupids bow John had ever seen on anyone. If Sherlock was ever shocked or surprised and pulled an "o" face, his lips would be in a perfect heart shape.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. '...John?'

John swallowed visibly and attempted to pay attention to him properly. 'Sorry. I, um...sorry.' He said quietly, his face turning beet-red.

'Right.'

'Mm.'

John's shoulders sagged. 'I missed you.'

'I know.'

'Have...have you missed me?'

'Yes.'

John smirked. Sherlock tilted his head. 'It's true.' He dug his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor. 'I used to dream about those last moments before I "died".' He swallowed visibly. 'And then, I...I started to dream about you.'

John stared at him. Sherlock smiled slightly. 'Oh, those dreams, John-' He was cut off by John darting towards him, kissing him squarely on the mouth. Sherlock grunted in surprise, before letting his hands wander towards Johns back. John dared himself, his tongue shooting out and running across Sherlocks top lip. Sherlock gasped and spun them both round, pushing John against the wall. The doctor's hand latched onto Sherlocks hair.

'John.' Sherlock panted.

John parted and looked at him. 'Yes?'

'I can't stay.'

'...What?'

'Moriarty's still got people out there. They're after me and you know that this'll be the first place they'll look.'

'Don't go.'

'I have to.'

'No you don't.' John said softly, and then tilted his head to the side, biting softly into Sherlocks neck.

Sherlock arched his back and moaned. 'Johnnnn...'

'You.' Bite. 'Aren't.' Bite. 'Going.' Bite. 'Anywhere.' Bite. 'Tonight.'


	19. School Reunion part 1

**This is part one of a story which is dedicated to my friends Keri and Megan! Check them out on fanfiction (they share an account)- there name is spaceshipzoom. **

**-Sidenote- No, Keri and Megan aren't actually thirty-five in real life =D**

* * *

><p>Ring, ring. Ring, ring.<p>

'Hello?'

'Hi, um, is that John Watson?'

'Speaking?'

'We read your blog, about you and that guy you live with, I've forgotten his name. We need to talk to you two.'

'Right, well-'

'It's important.'

'Who was that?' Sherlock asked John as the doctor put the phone down.

'Potential client.'

'Who?' The detective replied, plucking tunelessly at his violin.

'Two thirty-something year-old girls. They didn't give their names.'

'They've heard of me, naturally.'

'They don't know who you are, actually.'

Sherlock sniffed. 'How rude. Tell them they can't see us.'

John sighed and leaned against the table. 'I'm sure it's a very interesting case.'

'I don't care. If they don't know who I am, then why should I listen to them?'

'They'll be here in ten minutes.'

Sherlock frowned and threw his violin down the side of the armchair, sighing dramatically.

'Ooh-ooh!'

John opened their living-room door to see a smiling Ms. Hudson.

'Can I help?' He asked.

'There are two girls here to see you, dear.'

'Ah, yeah. Tell them they're welcome to come up.'

'Okay, sweetie.' she said, pootling off downstairs once again. John shut the door and looked back at Sherlock.

'Can you behave this time?'

Sherlock blinked at him and rose from his seat. 'I always behave.'

'No you don't.'

'I do.'

John rolled his eyes but didn't say anything, knowing better than to get into an argument with Sherlock Holmes.

There was another knock on the door. John opened it quickly to reveal two women standing in the corridor.

The first of the two women was tall with several piercings across her ears. Her hair was dark brown, swepped back into a messy bun, locks of hair out from all sides. Her All Time Low faded t-shirt hung off her loosely, hands in the pockets of her dark blue jeans.

The second woman was shorter, with burgundy-coloured hair hanging over her shoulders. Her trouser-suit was a grey pin-stripe, a silver necklace on her shoulder-blades. Her nails were painted blue, plugging herself into her iPod. The two of them looked around Sherlocks age.

Sherlock and the two women looked at each other, and then did a double-take. His eyes widened with pure terror. 'Oh, hell.'

The two new-comers let out a simultaneous scream and darted towards Sherlock, bowling him over onto his chair with lethal hugs.

John stepped back and watched with quiet confusion.

'What.' He said at last.

Sherlock peeled himself away from the two finally. 'John! Get them away from me!'

'Do they know you?'

'Yes!'

'Wha- How?'

The two women stood up properly at long last.

'Oh my God, you haven't changed!' The shorter one remarked.

'Well, I have aged if you haven't noticed, Keri Fenton.'

The taller one squealed. 'You remember her name! Can you remember mine?'

_As much as I try to forget_. 'Megan James.'

'Oh my God, you _do_!' Megan almost shouted, throwing herself onto him again. Keri blinked and put a hand on Megan's back.

'Yeah, I think Sherly's had enough of the hugging now.'

'Hello!' John piped up. They all looked at him, Megan's arms wrapped around the neck of a disgusted-looking Sherlock. 'Can someone tell me what's going on?'

Megan melted away from the detective, standing by his side. Sherlock coughed and straightened the lapels of his jacket. 'This, um...that is...' He mentally kicked himself and stood up. 'Megan, Keri and I were at school together.'

John raised an eyebrow. 'Really?'

'Isn't that brilliant!' Megan said.

'We used to sit next to each other, the three of us.' Keri added.

'That's nice.' John said patiently.

'Why are you here?' Sherlock interjected.

Keri looked at him. 'Oh, yeah. Give us a minute; we just need to get something out of the car.' She said, leaving the room with Megan following her. Sherlock and John stood in silence, before John looked up at him. 'Um...'

Sherlocks eyes flickered towards his. 'What?'

'You have lipstick on your face.'

Sherlock went silent again before saying a quiet, 'where?'

'Oh, you know...everywhere.'


	20. School Reunion part 2

'Vanessa Blanc.' Keri said, slamming down a huge wad of papers on top of the coffee table. John looked at it, puzzled.

'Who?'

'Our foreign exchange student.' Megan explained.

'What about her?'

Keri leaned against the fireplace. 'Two weeks ago, she complains of being ill-'

'Next thing we know, she's vanished.' Megan finished.

John raised his eyebrows. _'Two weeks_ ago? Why didn't you come to us sooner?'

Megan opened her mouth to reply, before Sherlock wandered into the living room, wiping a wet tissue over his face. He eyed Keri and Megan.

'Why are _they_ still here?' He said bluntly, looking at himself in the mirror above the fireplace.

Keri smirked at him. 'Didn't you like the obsessive-fan-girls-just-attacked-me-look?'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her, and then turned his attention back to his reflection. 'Oddly enough-no.'

'Shame.' Megan sniggered. 'You suited coral lipstick.'

Sherlock wiped furiously at a lipstick stain on the corner of his mouth. 'Gods sakes...' He cursed quietly.

John sighed and spun the detective round. Sherlock looked at him as the shorter man stood on his tip-toes and took the tissue form him, dabbing at Sherlocks mouth. Sherlock unconsciously opened his mouth slightly, his breathing becoming shallow.

Megan and Keri frowned at them.

'...Boys?' Keri piped up.

Sherlock and John leapt away from each other, startled.

'What.' Sherlock said bitterly.

'We're not disturbing anything, are we?'

'Of course not.' John said quickly, looking at the floor.

Sherlock looked past him, sighed, and walked towards the sofa.

Keri and Megan looked back at each other.

'Well.'

'Well.'

Keri grinned at her. '£100.'

'You're on.'

John looked at them. 'What?'

'Nothing.' The two women said simultaneously.

Silence fell over them, before Megan said, 'So, Vanessa.'

'I over-heard your conversation about her.' Sherlock said from the sofa.

'Oh, yeah.' Megan said, rifling through the wad of papers. She fished out a large photograph and handed it to him. He looked at the young woman with dark skin and black and purple braided hair. He sat back in his seat.

'Place of origin?'

'Languedoc, France.' Keri answered. 'She's been living with us for two months now.'

John frowned. 'I thought foreign exchange students were only meant to stay for a few weeks.'

Keri shrugged. 'She is clingy.'

'Does she have any family over here?' Sherlock asked.

'No.' Megan said. 'They're all in France.'

'Mm. Did she show any signs of paranoia or-?' John asked.

'Um, not that I remember. She felt ill though.'

Sherlock glanced up at her. 'In what sense?'

'She said she had migraines, and she couldn't sleep for a few days.'

Sherlock nodded slowly. 'Where do you live?'

'We've been sharing a flat in Cardiff Bay.' Keri replied, 'but we have been away from home for a few days.'

Sherlock paused, before standing up abruptly, grabbing his coat and scarf. 'John, call a taxi to take us to the train station.'


	21. School Reunion part 3

Keri kicked a few unopened bills out of the way as she, Sherlock, John and Megan entered the apartment over-looking Mermaid Quay in Cardiff. Megan flicked on the light switch as Sherlock started examining everything he came across.

John looked at him out of the corner of his eye, swallowing. Keri leaned towards the doctor, smiling.

'So.'

John's eyes snapped to meet hers. '...Hm?'

She slid closer towards him, arms folded. 'You alright?'

He reddened slightly. 'Yup.'

'It's really cool, all this detective stuff.'

'Mhm.'

'It's kinda...' She dipped her head towards his. '...Exciting.'

'Yeah.' John said, paying more attention to the consulting detective with his back to him. Keri smirked and moved away.

'I am so going to win this.'

John gave her a sideways glance. '...Huh?'

'Exactly.'

* * *

><p>Sherlock opened the door to Vanessa's room slowly, fishing out his pocket magnifying glass. Megan followed him, trying blindly to look for whatever the hell <em>he<em> was looking for. She gave up when he dropped to the floor, examining the carpet.

'How long have you known each other?' Megan asked.

Sherlock didn't look up at her. 'Who?'

'You and John.'

His eyes scanned nothing, thinking. 'A year or so.'

Megan raised her eyebrows. 'It's quite a while, isn't it?'

'No it's not.'

'I think it is; and in that amount of time, how many girls has John brought home?'

'Six. They all ended badly.'

'Right. And how many girls have you brought home?'

He paused. 'One. Sort of. She broke in. I don't see her anymore.'

'Uh-huh.'

'Why is this important?'

Megan shook her head. 'Oh, it's not at all. It's just...well, have and John ever-?'

Sherlock went silent before sitting up on his haunches, looking up at her. '...Have we what?'

'You know what I mean.'

Sherlock sighed inwardly. Megan shook her head and looked away. 'Sorry. It's not really any of my business.'

'No.'

'...I'm sorry?'

'No, we haven't.' He said, looking at the floor.

'Oh. Okay then.'

They both went silent again, before Megan said, 'but you want to.'

Sherlock looked up at her slowly. 'I beg your pardon?' He said, frowning.

'...No, noth-'

He stood up suddenly, towering over Megan. 'What gives you the right,' He hissed, 'to decide on my feelings for me?'

Megan looked a little taken aback. 'I'm only-'

'No. Just don't.'

'Sherlock.' John said, poking his head around the door. Sherlock looked at him, looked back at Megan coldly, and then followed John out of the room. Megan sighed to herself and followed them.

'We found something in the living room.' John said, leading the detective towards it. Sherlock stared, open-mouthed.

Scratched into the mirror hanging on the wall.

IOU.

Sherlock walked slowly towards it, tracing the letters with a gloved finger.

'You said he was dead.' John said eventually.

'...He can't be alive. He just can't.' Sherlock said in an almost whisper. He noticed something tucked on top of the mirror. He pulled the note out, unfolding it.

_Sleep well, honey._

Sherlocks eyes suddenly widened. He darted out of the living room and into Vanessa's room with Megan, John and Keri following behind him quickly.

'What? What is it?' John asked as Sherlock dived under Vanessa's bed. He unclipped something that was fastened to the mattress and straightened up, holding it in his hands.

'Carbon monoxide canister. Designed to release the gas every time she went to bed. It's empty now.' He glanced up at Megan. 'What was she complaining of? Headaches? Nausea? The symptoms of carbon monoxide poisoning.'

Keri clapped a hand over her mouth. 'Oh my God...'

'I know. Brilliant work. Very clever.'

'Sherlock...' John said quickly.

He looked up at him. 'Hm?'

John shook his head slowly. Sherlock paused. '...Not good?'

'No.'


	22. School Reunion part 4

**Oh look, Imi, Imogen and Alice (my friends) are in this chapter, plus someone else...**

**Megan and Keri have started their own versions of this story with MEEEE in it, so yeah. Go tell them they're awesome.**

* * *

><p>Sherlock looked out of the window of Cadwaladers cafe, turning his coffee mug around on its saucer.<p>

'Why us?' Megan asked as she sat back in her seat.

Sherlock gave her a double-take. '...I'm sorry?'

'Why would this Moriarty pick on us?'

Sherlock shrugged and stirred his coffee. 'You've known me for a long time, maybe.'

John smiled at him. 'Sounds like you had fun.'

'"Fun" is the wrong word. "Survival" is the right one.'

Megan and Keri smirked, sipping their teas. Sherlocks eyes narrowed, tilting his head to look at where the sudden rush of whispers were coming from.

'Just go up to him, for Gods sakes.'

'I can't, it's not that easy!'

John looked past Sherlocks shoulder to see four teenage girls hovering behind them.

'You've waited your whole life for this!' The one with dark hair and eye-liner said.

The shortest one with curly hair wearing a black trilby looked at her. 'It's not that easy, Alice. This is the equivalent to you meeting Johnny Depp.' She replied, staring intently at the back of Sherlocks head.

The tallest girl with blonde hair put a hand on her shoulder.

'What's the worst that could happen?'

'Everything! Everything could happen, Imogen!'

The final one of the girls, the one with ginger-red hair, grabbed the shortest girls arm. 'God's sake! You're going up to him and saying hi!'

The one with the trilby eyes widened. 'No! Imi!'

'Yes! Go, go, go!'

The shortest one was thrown forward. She swallowed and took a step forward, and then glanced back at her three friends who promptly gestured at her to keep going. She took a deep breath and turned towards Sherlocks table. She bit her lip and hesitantly tapped his shoulder. 'Um...'

He looked at her. 'What?'

'Are...' Her voice cracked in her throat. 'Are you Sh...Sherlock Holmes?'

'Yes...' He said slowly.

She nodded quickly, turning to leave before turning back again. 'It's just that...well, I've read Johns blog loads of times, and I've seen all of the news reports about you...I, um, got a blue scarf for Christmas to match yours.'

Sherlock eyed the blue scarf around her neck. 'Right.'

'And you're really hot and I love you and I want to marry you. But that's a bit of a contradiction because I write stuff about you and John on the internet.'

Sherlock spat his coffee out, whilst John went bright red.

'S...Slash?' John said quietly.

'Yeah, that. I also write Skulduggery Pleasant stuff, but you know, that's...' She coughed. 'Anyway, can you s...sign my notebook, please?' The girl said, thrusting a black and white-chequered notebook towards him. She flicked through it quickly, trying to find a blank page. 'Hold on, that's a story, that's another story...ignore that picture of you in a flower pot...here you go!' She said finally, handing him a pen.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, before popping the pen lid off, scribbling down his signature.'

The girl watched him over his shoulder. 'My name's Rhiannon, by the way.'

'Mhm.'

'But most people on the internet know me as Tomatoeson-'

'Wonderful.' He said quickly, handing the notebook and pen back to her.

'Okay.' She said quietly, hugging her notebook. 'I'm...just going to go away now...' She said, shuffling off again.

Megan and Keri looked at Sherlock with bemused expressions. He looked back at them. 'What?'

'You're so rude.' Keri said.

'...Why?'

'She was really nice and you just...yeah.'

Sherlock sighed and looked out of the window again.

John glanced at Megan and then at his own tea. 'It's not safe in your apartment now. Moriarty knows where you two are-you shouldn't be staying there.'

Megan rested her chin in her hand. 'What should we do then?'

John shrugged. 'Well, you two could-'

'Don't even think about it, John Watson.' Sherlock said sternly.

John frowned at him. 'What? What's wrong with them?'

'They can't!'

'Can't what?' Keri asked.

'Come and live with us.' Sherlock explained.

Keri's eyes lit up. 'Really? Thanks so much for offering, Sherly!'

Sherlock looked horrified. 'Wha- no, I didn't-'

'We'll just get some stuff from the apartment, yeah?' Keri said, as she and Megan stood up to leave.

'But...but we don't have enough room!'

'Oh, it's okay. I can bring my sleeping bag and us two could just share your room.'

'Then where would I go?' Sherlock replied, agitated.

Megan looked at him with large eyes. 'Well, you could just share with John.'

Sherlock stared at her like she'd just killed a man.

'...What.'

'It wouldn't be for very long; a few days, just until all this has been cleared up.' Keri pleaded, sticking out her bottom lip.

John paused, and then nodded. 'Sure, that sounds fine. Do you want to pack some stuff whilst we wait here?'

Now it was Johns turn to receive the you-just-killed-my-father look from Sherlock. Megan and Keri took that as a cue to leave, filing out of the cafe.

'I hate you. 'Sherlock said eventually.

'No you don't.'

'No, I don't, but still-'

John leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. 'Get a grip. They're only staying for a few days.'

Sherlock went silent and looked away.

* * *

><p><em>'Stop poking your nose into our business, you freak!'<em>

_'Piss off, you phsyco!'_

_'Oh, look who it is, Sher-looser Holmes!'_

_Just ignore them. Just ignore them. _

_'Ugh, Sherlock no-friends!'_

_Ignore the idiots like you always do. Just keep walking. _

_They're picking me up. I can't fight them off. Four of these older boys. One of me. They're pushing me against a wall. One punch-left shoulder. One kick-shin. Another punch- stomach. They don't care now. They're just attacking me with everything they've got. Oh God, can't breathe. I can't see. I can't stand up. Oh...Oh God, I can't stand up...They're going to kill me._

_'Get away from him, you bastards!'_

_Voices. Two voices. Female? Yes, I think so. They they...fighting back for me? I want to see what's happening, but I can't. Two people picking me up by my arms. I'm walking. They're helping me walk. _

_'It's alright now, Sherlock.'_

_I don't know them, but I'm sure I will soon. I can feel blood running from a cut under my fringe. I don't know who my saviours are. I don't mind. I'll find out soon enough. _

* * *

><p>Sherlocks hand slipped under the curls that make up his fringe, his breath hitching in his throat.<p>

John tilted his head at him. 'Are you alright?'

Sherlock jumped in his seat, his hands snapping away. 'Of course I am.'

'You sure?'

'Certain.'

'What's wrong with your forehead then?'

Sherlock went silent. '...I'm sorry?'

John pointed at Sherlocks forehead. 'You were running your fingers underneath your fringe, looking really...I dunno, haunted.'

'I'm fine.'

John raised a hand to Sherlocks head, leaning towards him. 'Let me see.'

Sherlocks eyes widened, beginning to bat Johns hand away. 'No, I...'

'Please?'

Sherlock looked at him, and then relaxed. John gently brushed Sherlocks fringe away to reveal a long, deep gash at the top of his hairline. It had healed over, but messily, like someone had stitched it up all wrong.

Sherlocks eyes flickered to the floor as John frowned slightly and brushed more of the detectives fringe away, inspecting it. 'When did this happen?'

'Twenty years ago.'

'Twenty...Why hasn't it healed up properly? Who stitched this up?'

Sherlock looked at John in silence. The doctor sighed. 'Oh, Sherlock...'

'I don't like going to hospitals. You know I don't.'

'So you did it yourself?'

Sherlock nodded. John did the opposite, shaking his head, looking back at the scar. 'How did you get it? If you don't mind saying.'

'Some people don't like me, clearly.'

John's eyes darkened with anger. 'Someone did this to you.'

'It was twenty years ago, John.'

'Someone beat you up, gave you a permanent scar...'

'You've got a permanent scar and you're fine.'

'But this is different!'

'No, it's not. I'm...' Sherlocks eyes almost pleaded with John. 'I'm fine now.'

'But you're not.' John replied, softening.

Sherlock glanced up at John's hand. 'You're still holding on to my fringe.'

'I know.'

'Are, um, are you going to let go?'

'No.'

'Oh.'

John smiled gently at him, hesitantly brushing his thumb against Sherlocks scar. Sherlock sighed happily.

Keri and Megan appeared through the cafe door, dragging two brightly-coloured suitcases behind them. Sherlock and John sighed irritably and moved away from each other.


	23. School Reunion part 5

**Keri finally has her own fanfiction account! Her username is HotTemperedPixie. Go check her out and tell her I sent you :D**

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><p>'Why do you need all this?' Sherlock shouted from downstairs as Megan and Keri unloaded yet another lot of items.<p>

'It's as much as we need!' Keri shouted back. 'Just because you only possess three different shirts.'

'Five, actually!' He said, stomping upstairs into his now-destroyed room. Keri and Megan's stuff was everywhere, like there had been a terrorist attack in Primark. Sherlock had evacuated as many of his possessions as he could into John's room, but that didn't stop Keri.

'This is quite nice, actually.' She said to her reflection as she stood in front of a full-length mirror, looking at herself wearing one of Sherlocks black velvet jackets.

He stared at her. '...What are you doing?'

'My God, you're skinny.'

'Put that back!'

She held out her arms, sighing. 'You're way too tall, too. You're arms are so long it's unreal.'

Sherlock groaned and tore his jacket off her. 'Leave my stuff alone!'

He turned to Megan. 'And what is that?'

Megan looked innocently at what she had just placed on Sherlocks window-sill, and then back at him. 'It's a plant pot.'

'Why the hell did you bring a plant pot with you? And how did it even fit in your suitcase?'

'...Well-'

'No. Screw it.' He said quietly, leaving the room in a huff.

Megan and Keri looked at each other.

'I think he's really missed us.' Keri said brightly.

Sherlock barged back into the living-room, making John look up at him.

'I hate them!' Sherlock growled. 'I want them to leave now!'

'They're not _that_ bad.' John said, flicking through his newspaper.

'Why couldn't they just go into a hotel?'

'They haven't got much money, apparently.'

Sherlock scoffed. 'They haven't got money and yet they can afford an apartment in Cardiff Bay? It's ridiculous!'

John couldn't help but smile at him. 'I quite like them as company.'

'Why?'

'I don't know, they're just...nice people.'

'Really?'

'Yes. Is that so hard to believe?'

'Yes.' Sherlock muttered, falling into his chair. 'Yes it is.'

'Sherlock!' Megan called from upstairs. 'Is this supposed to come off?'

'W...What?' Sherlock said slowly. Megan approached the living room and poked her head around the door, holding one of the bed-knobs in her hand. Sherlock leapt up from his seat. 'How the hell-'

'Well, Keri was trying to get the sleeping-bag out of her suitcase, but it got caught on something. So, when she tried to pull it out, she fell backwards onto the head-board. I tried to help her up, failed, and then ended up dropping her again. The bed-knob was loose anyway, but it turns out that they're not very Keri-resistant.'

Sherlock blinked at her. 'What.'

'And Keri also needs some...'

'I need medical attention!' Keri screamed from upstairs. 'My back has been killed!'

John nodded to himself and wandered off to the bathroom in search of a medical kit. Sherlock looked at Megan.

'Anything else you've done to my room?'

'...No, I think that's it.'

'Right. Brilliant.' He said quietly, turning away from her.

* * *

><p>'John? Sherly?'<p>

Sherlock and John looked up from their thoughts as they sat in their chairs infront of the fire. 'Mm?' John said.

'We're both going to sleep now.' Keri said.

'Right then. See you in the morning.'

Megan and Keri nodded at him. Once John had looked away, Megan drew an imaginary heart around him and Sherlock with her finger. Keri giggled at her and left, Megan following. Sherlock and John sat in silence.

'So...' John said slowly, twirling his brandy glass around in his hand. 'Are you okay?'

'Of course. Why wouldn't I be?'

John shrugged. 'It's been a long day for you.'

'I've coped.'

'And I congratulate you.'

Sherlock chuckled warmly. 'Are you alright?'

'Yeah. Tired, but you know, surviving.'

Sherlock looked at him. 'Do you want to go to bed?'

John's eyes widened. Sherlock paused and then shook his head quickly. 'No, that's not what I meant!'

'Oh right. I see.'

The detective nodded, blushing furiously. John swallowed back the rest of his drink, standing up. 'I'll be off then.'

'Oh. Okay then.'

John smirked. 'Don't sound so down-hearted. We'll be sharing a bed soon.'

Sherlock paused, and then brushed both hands over his face. 'Oh, God. I forgot about that.'

John smiled. 'I'll see you later then.'

* * *

><p>Sherlock knocked on John's bedroom door. 'Can I come in?'<p>

'Yup.'

Sherlock opened the door to see John with his back to him, placing his clothes in a neat pile in the corner of the room. 'You're actually being polite, Sherlock.' John said. 'You're asking permission to come into my room. I'm impressed.' He turned round and raised his eyebrows. John was wearing his usual tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt, whereas Sherlock was only wearing his pyjama bottoms. 'Can I ask where your top is?' John asked, trying not to stare.

Sherlock shrugged and leaned against the wall. 'Boring.'

John sighed and stepped closer towards the bed, paused, and then looked back up at his flat-mate. 'How are we...?'

'We'll manage.' Sherlock replied simply, sitting on the bed. John turned the light off and then sat next to him awkwardly.

'Um...' They looked at each other. 'Top and tail?'

Sherlock nodded. 'Top and tail.'

They stood up, John slipping into bed at one end whilst Sherlock did the same at the opposite end. They lay in silence.

'...Your feet smell.' Sherlock said finally. They both laughed at the sudden broken silence.

'So sorry, Mr Perfect!' John said.

'What? It's true! And I am not Mr Perfect!'

'You are.'

'I'm not.'

John smiled at the ceiling. '...You are, Sherlock.'

Sherlocks laughter died down. '...I'm...sorry?'

John paused, and then put his hands behind his ears. 'It's always easier to say something to someone when you can't see them, isn't it?'

'...I...suppose so.' Sherlock said slowly. 'Why? Is this going anywhere?'

'No. Yes. Oh...' John sighed irritably. 'I don't know.'

Sherlock swallowed. '...What?'

'I don't know any more to be honest.'

'You're worrying me, now.'

'Don't be. I'm just...I'm just confused.'

'When _aren't_ you?'

'Shut up.'

Sherlock smiled in the darkness. 'Why are you confused?'

'Things are happening in my brain.'

'Get used to it-it happens all the time to me.'

John turned onto his side, looking at Sherlocks feet. 'You must never be able to sleep then.'

'I do, just not very often.'

'Mm.' John stared at Sherlocks feet, and then ran a finger across one of them. Sherlock jerked his foot back, raising his head automatically.

'Don't!'

John grinned and ran more fingers across his foot. Sherlock squealed and kicked out. 'Don't you dare!'

John giggled mischievously, leaping onto Sherlock and tickling him until he became a collapsed ball of silent laughter. 'No, John! St...Stop it!' He wailed. He must have found some sort of power somewhere, flipping John onto his back and landing on top of him.

And that's when Keri walked through the door.

'I heard screaming and I thought I might-oh, whoa, alright then!' She said quickly, walking straight back out again.

Sherlock rolled off of John. 'No!' The detective called out. 'We weren't doing anything!'

'Sure.' She said from the other side of the door. 'You just scarred me for life.'

'But we weren't-'

'Then why were you on top of him? Why were you screaming? _And why the hell is your top off?_'


	24. School Reunion part 6

**This is the final chapter of 'School Reunion'! Hope you enjoy!**

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><p>Sherlock plucked tunelessly at his violin as chaos revved up around him.<p>

'You were doing something!' Keri almost screamed.

John sighed and shook his head. 'We really weren't.'

Megan glanced up from _The Hunger Games_. 'What's going on?'

Keri pointed accusingly at Sherlock. 'Those two were...were having fun last night!'

'W...what?' Megan replied in disbelief.

'We were not!' John protested. 'We weren't even thinking about doing that kind of thing.'

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in silent argument but didn't say anything. Keri laughed sarcastically. 'Oh yeah, so why did I hear screaming? And I was he on top of you?'

'Because I was tickling him!' John shouted in defeat.

There was a long silence. Sherlock smiled to himself and stopped plucking the violin. Megan blinked at the two of them. '...You _what_?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes and placed his violin down. 'Well, I'm glad that's all sorted out.' He looked at Keri. 'And you won't be going to the papers with this little story, will you?'

Keri folded his arms. 'How did you know I was a journalist?'

'Your suit yesterday told me.'

John sighed heavily but didn't say a word.

'The ink on your sleeve and on your fingers,' Sherlock continued. 'Your nails were chipped like you'd been writing a lot, or typing. More likely writing; there's a bump on your right ring-finger, showing where your pen rests. It's a blue-inked one; it leaked in the car on your way here yesterday. You're not an author though; your hair's too tame, too professional to be an author.' He turned to Megan. 'And you. Yesterday, your eyes were tired, like you were reading something over and over. Not a book though, you wouldn't get staple indentations from a book. A wad of paper, a script. You've just landed yourself a lead role for something important-am I wrong?'

Megan and Keri looked at each other, and then back at Sherlock.

'He's so hot when he does that.' Megan said quietly, her eyes shining. Sherlock shook his head and stood up.

'That's the showing-off done then.' John said, sitting down in his chair. 'Can we get back to actually trying to find this poor French woman?'

Sherlock nodded. 'I know where she is.'

Keri's eyes widened. 'What? How long have you known this?'

'Only a few hours. I worked it out whilst I was asleep.'

'Well, where is she?' Megan asked.

Sherlock turned to John. 'Order a taxi for the two of us.'

Megan frowned, whilst Keri stepped closer towards the detective. 'What do you mean, _for the two of you_?'

'What about us?' Megan said bitterly.

'It's not safe for you two.' He said simply, throwing on his coat and scarf.

'...It's not safe for us.' Keri said slowly.

'That is what I just said.'

Megan stood up. 'What are you implying? That we're not strong enough for you?'

'I'm not saying that.' Sherlock said. 'Moriarty is dangerous. More than dangerous, deadly. I need you to understand-'

'No, no I don't!' Keri shouted. 'You think we can't handle it? Why not? Why wouldn't we be able to, when we were the ones who saved your bloody life when you were at school?'

Sherlock looked at her, his eyes glazed over. John stared at him. 'They...'

Sherlock swallowed and strolled out of the door. 'Come on, John.'

* * *

><p>The taxi ride to the warehouse Sherlock directed the driver to was quiet. John turned to Sherlock a few times, wanting to say something but ending up falling silent again. Sherlock looked at him from the corner of his eye. 'What do you want?'<p>

'Megan and Keri saved you.' John said finally. Sherlock sighed inwardly whilst John went on. 'You...when you got beaten up, they saved you.'

'Mm.'

'And this is your way of thanking them.'

'By saving their lives, yes.'

John paused, and then nodded. 'I understand.'

'Good.' Sherlock said, looking out of the window. John hesitated, and rested his hand on the other mans. Sherlock looked back at John with a confused expression. The army doctor smiled reasuringly at him.

'I know you're worried about Moriarty, but there's no way in hell that he could've survived that-you told me.'

'I survived.'

'Don't. I never want to think about that ever again.'

'Sorry.'

The taxi stopped outside the warehouse. Sherlock moved away from Johns hand and paid quickly, shuffling out of the taxi with John following.

* * *

><p>Sherlock and John entered the cold, silent, dead warehouse, scanning for something, anything. They wandered around for what felt like a lifetime, before they heard footsteps. 'So glad you could join us.' a heavily-accented female voice rose towards them. They turned to see a woman no older than twenty-something. Dark skin, braided black and purple hair, just like the photograph. Her outfit was dark and her accent was French but her voice sounded uncertain, like she was unsure of what she was saying. John stared at her.<p>

'Vanessa?'

'Oh, so you know me? What about you, darling?' She said, looking at Sherlock.

The taller man frowned at her. 'Who's "us"?'

'Oh, you're getting slow, Mr Holmes.' She said hesitantly. John's eye fell on the ear-piece on Vanessa.

'Sher...' He began. Sherlock nodded.

'I know.'

'It's funny.' Vanessa continued. 'You talk all the time, but do you really understand what you're saying?'

Another set of footsteps. 'Clearly not.'

That voice. Sherlock shook his head, whilst John took a step back. Jim Moriarty stood before them, hands in his pockets, teeth bared into a shark-like grin. He glanced briefly at Vanessa. 'You like my new pet? Sebastian and I are rather fond of having her around-and you know; I just don't want to give her back now.' He smiled at her sympathetically. 'Maybe it would be better for all of us if we just put her down.'

'Why her?' Sherlock piped up. Moriarty looked at him with raised eyebrows.

'Oh, in a rush are we? Slow down, we all need to catch up on each other. How is everything in that little flat of yours?' Sherlock didn't reply. Moriarty shrugged. 'I took her because I knew your friends would go to you. You would accept the case, I knew you would. Brilliant, isn't it? Two damsels in distress, one carbon-monoxide canister, and best of all-me.'

Vanessa stayed quiet, too scared to even move. Moriarty leaned towards her, breathing into her ear. 'She's such a good girl...'

'_GET AWAY FROM HER, YOU BASTARD_!'

Sherlock, John, Moriarty and Vanessa turned to see Keri and Megan running towards them. Keri was holding Johns gun out in front of her, whilst Megan...

'Is that a spoon?' John said.

Megan blinked at him. '...It has a dagger on the end of it.'

Keri pointed the gun at Moriarty's head. 'Let her go.'

Moriarty grinned at her. 'And they're here, finally! Now that we're all here together, why don't we-'

'Stay away from her.' Sherlock said slowly, walking towards Moriarty. The detective turned to Vanessa. 'Are you alright?'

She staggered slightly. 'I don't...I...' She fell to a heap on the floor, Megan and John dashing towards her. Sherlock threw off his coat and scarf and handed it to John. The doctor tucked it beneath Vanessa's head, examining her closely.

Moriarty shook his head. 'Stop fretting; she's just...overwhelmed by your company.'

Keri snarled at the consulting criminal. 'Whatever you've done to her-'

'Oh, she's not important now. You can have her; I just wanted to see my darling Sherlock again.' He walked away from Keri, looking at the floor. 'I missed you, sweetheart. After the fall, you thought you could just walk away from me. No, no, no, Sherlock. That's not in the rules of this game we're playing. But I suppose, neither is falling for your flat-mate, isn't that right, Johnny-boy?'

Sherlock frowned, looking at the doctor kneeling on the floor beside Vanessa. '...John?'

John didn't look up at him. '...what do you expect me to say, Moriarty?' He said darkly.

'Well, the truth is always a great place to start. Unless you want Sherlock to say it first.'

Sherlock yanked the gun from Keri's grip, pressing it against Moriarty's chest. 'Give me a good reason why I shouldn't shoot you right now.'

'Because you're too interested in me, Sherlock. You're too eager to know what I'm going to do next. It's a shame, you all hearts and flowers for John,' John looked up at Sherlock. 'We could've been wonderful together.' He shrugged and straightened Sherlocks lapels of his jacket. 'I'll see you soon then, my dear.'

Sherlock had the gun poised right up until he saw Moriarty leave the warehouse. John immediately got to his feet and dashed towards the taller man. Sherlock spun round to look at him, threw the gun behind his own shoulder and latched on to John, kissing him. John sighed happily and ran his hand through Sherlocks hair whilst the detective wrapped an arm around Johns waist, placing the other hand on the side of Johns face. They both moaned quietly when Sherlock pressed John against the wall, kissing the shorter man senseless.

'Sher...Sherlock.' John muttered.

'Mm.' Sherlock said, pulling away slightly.

'Keri and Megan are behind us.'

'...Oh. Yeah.' Sherlock replied, stepping away. John instantly reeled him back in again.

'I'm not telling you to stop.'

Sherlock smirked and kissed him again.

Megan and Keri stood next to each other awkwardly. Eventually, Keri turned to the other woman.

'Told you he fancied John. I win.'

Megan sighed irritably and fished out £100 from her pocket.


	25. Scar

**Please be an appropriate age to read this chapter!**

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><p>Sherlock thumped his fist against his desk as he gazed into his microscope. This was taking way too long for his patience to handle; the experiment he was conducting for how long skin cells last after the skin has been damaged before turning into a scar was taking hours. It was easy to just cut his own skin and take it from there, but ever since a certain army doctor banned all of that kind of thing, Sherlock had to collect all of his data from St. Bart's morgue.<p>

That didn't always work.

He needed samples of skin cells, scars, scabs, particularly an old scar so he could...He looked up from the microscope. _Oh_. Sherlock leaped up from his chair and grabbed the kettle, filling it with water.

'John!' He called.

'What?'

'Come here?'

John snapped his laptop-lid shut. In a scenario with Sherlock involved, "come here", usually meant a.) The kitchen's on fire again, can you put it out please, or b.) I have my hand stuck in some sort of life-threatening machinery, can you free me please?

Instinctively, John grabbed the medical kit from the bathroom and dashed downstairs. 'What have you done this-' He frowned and placed the medical kit on the floor. 'What the Hell?'

Sherlock was holding out a cup of tea towards John, with a sickly grin plastered onto his face. 'Hello, John!' He said way too brightly to be considered legal. 'How are you this morning?'

John raised his eyebrow and glanced out of the window and back at Sherlock. 'It's half-past four in the afternoon.'

'I made you a cup of tea.' Sherlock replied, forcing it into Johns hand almost threateningly. John's eyes narrowed.

'What have you done to it?'

Sherlocks smile faded. 'I'm sorry?'

'You've poisoned it, haven't you?'

'Wha- no!'

'You have before; who's to say to say you wouldn't again?'

'I'm being _nice_! Is that so hard to believe?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'Because apparently is causes you physical pain to so much as apologise.'

Sherlock sighed. John rolled his eyes and took the tea from him. He gingerly sniffed it. Sherlock looked at him defensively. 'God's sakes, it's not poisoned!'

'Yes, alright.' The doctor replied, taking a sip. Sherlock nodded at him. As soon as he turned away, John spat the tea straight back out again and placed the mug on a nearby table. 'What do you want?'

'Well-' the detective paused and then turned back to him. 'How did you know I wanted something?'

'Spooky, isn't it? It's a gift I have.'

Sherlock coughed and dug his hands in his pockets. 'It...Could be a little difficult for you.' He said, suddenly turning serious.

John blinked at him. 'What is it?'

'It's for the experiment I'm doing at the moment.' Sherlock said, moving closer towards him. 'It's about skin cell damage and cell reproduction. I need some extracts of broken skin.'

'So?'

Sherlock looked at him, hesitant. 'I need to see your scar.'

John sighed inwardly and looked away. Sherlock dipped his head. 'I know you don't want me to see it, but it's important to my experiment that I collect this.'

'Mm.'

There was a long silence. Eventually John swallowed. 'Okay.'

'Really?'

John nodded. Sherlock smiled at him before strolling into the kitchen to pick up the necessary tools. When he returned, John was standing against the table, staring into space. Sherlock tilted his head and stepped closer to him. 'Can you, um...'

John looked at him and started to unbutton his chequered shirt whilst Sherlock placed the equipment on the table John was leaning against. There was a light thud which made Sherlock look back at John and then bite his lip. John had taken his shirt off and dropped onto the floor next to him. John looked at the wall behind Sherlock, refusing to make eye contact.

'Is it...Is it alright?' Sherlock said, taking yet another step towards him.

'Yup.'

Sherlock smiled briefly and grabbed a set of tweezers and a petri-dish. He paused, and carefully picked away at the reddened scar. John winced, but didn't complain. Sherlock slowly peeled away a small amount of dead skin. He did it as carefully as he could, but John still sucked in air through gritted teeth and unconsciously gripped onto Sherlocks fore-arm.

'Sorry, sorry.' The detective said quietly and placed the skin into the petri-dish. He snapped the lid over it and slid it onto the table. He looked back at John, glancing at the fingers digging into his arm. 'Um.'

John let go. 'Sorry.'

'Mm.'

Sherlock leaned towards him. 'Do you not like your scar?'

'Why would I? And I thought you were finished anyway.' John replied, still looking past him.

Sherlock nodded and raised his hand. He gently ran a finger across the broken skin in a lazy circle. John swallowed visibly. 'What...'

Sherlock opened his mouth oh-so-slightly. 'John.' He murmured, before dipping his head and closing his eyes, kissing Johns scar.

John let out a gasp. 'Sherlock...What are you-' He stopped talking when Sherlocks hand wrapped around the side of Johns neck. John sighed lightly. Sherlock paused, smiled slightly, and ran his tongue across the scar. John let out a moan and closed his eyes. 'Oh...my God.' He whispered. 'Sherlock...please.' Sherlock went to John's collarbone, teeth grazing over skin. Johns head lulled back, latching onto Sherlocks hair. 'Bloody hell...' He muttered. He gripped onto Sherlocks shirt, pulling his face towards his. John leaned towards him, going in to kiss the hell out of him. Sherlocks eyes were half-closed, smiling centimetres away from John's mouth. He licked John's bottom lip and moved away from his mouth. John growled in frustration. 'Sher...'

Sherlock dipped his head again and buried his face in the shorter mans neck, biting into it slowly. John arched his back. 'Oh my God! Ki...Kiss me!'

'I _am_ kissing you.' Sherlock said smartly. Johns grip on the detectives' hair tightened.

'You...know what I...mean.'

'Do I?' Sherlock smirked and pressed against him, biting down hard into his neck, leaving red signatures across his skin. John moaned the detectives' name.

'Kiss me right now, you bastard!' He hissed.

'I won't do anything at all if you talk to me like that.'

John was panting now-he looked at Sherlock with almost completely black eyes. 'Then what do you want me to do?'

Sherlock raised his head again. His eyes flickered over to his riding-crop which was leaning against the fireplace. John followed his line of sight and then turned back to Sherlock, eyes wild with anticipation. Sherlock smiled mischievously.


	26. The Way I Do

**_T_his is only half a song fic because I'm lazy. It's set just after the fall, and the song is The Way I Do by Marcus Hernandez**

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><p><em>Your kiss, your smile<em>

_Your mind, you're sunlight in my eyes _

_I miss your breath on my neck_

_When we whisper in the night_

Loneliness had never been something he had suffered. In fact, he quite enjoyed his own company without anyone else's. No one would consider him as lonely in the situation he was in-he had Molly's dull and uninteresting conversation as a form of company. He had a roomful of books to occupy the long hour's boredom so he didn't go entirely mad.

_Didn't wanna want you _

_Didn't wanna need you so bad_

_Didn't wanna wake up and find that I was falling so fast_

Sherlock Holmes couldn't leave Molly's house without running the risk of being seen. He occasionally slopped off into the back garden to have a cigarette (much to the concern of Molly). He liked being outside. It gave him space to think.

_Didn't wanna need you _

_Didn't wanna need anyone_

_Now look what you've done_

He stared out of the window of his temporary room, leaning his head against the cold glass pane. He was thinking of home again, a thing which he did regularly. He rested the palm of his hand, his shoulders sagging.

'...Home.' He said to himself, his eyes closing. '...John...' He said aloud.

He suddenly frowned and stepped away from the window. _No, shut up_. His mind revved up again. _Why would I say that? This is not what I'm like,_ he thought. He shook his head, wandering around the room in a slow circle, 'this is not me, this is not who I am. This is not me, this is not who I am...' He ended up leaning against the wall, hands held in front of his mouth in a prayer-position. He stood there, his face contorting into utter confusion. 'Why would I say that?' He said to himself softly.

_Now I can't go on without you _

_I'm naked, I can't fake it_

_And I'm not that strong without you_

_Never thought I could love you_

_The way I do_

Of course, he knew exactly why he said John's name, but he didn't know what to do with how he felt. His eyes looked instantly worried with the thought of..._feelings._ He glanced out of the window again; he didn't want to hide anymore. He wanted to go back to Central London, he wanted to go back to Baker Street, he...

'...I want John.' He whispered to the window. His brow suddenly furrowed; he was going to cry. Sherlock Holmes was going to cry because he missed someone. He mentally kicked himself_, you're so weak. Stop this now. Stop being so...human. _

_Your touch, your skin_

_Can't believe the way you're letting me in _

_Don't rush tonight _

_I need you like the ocean needs the tide._

He kept his hands firmly pressed together in front of his mouth. He closed his eyes and frowned in an attempt to stop his feelings showing. His eyebrows stitched together as his breathing became shallow. A tear escaped from his closed eyes, making a trail across his cheekbones. He shook his head rapidly as more tears fell. Sherlock eventually gave in and started to cry in small sobs. He slid down the wall and wrapped his arms around his legs, burying his face in his knees. 'I want...John.' He gasped tearfully, his sobs becoming louder. His heart felt torn, more than torn. He placed his hand over it, _'I want John!_' He screamed his sobs at their loudest.

_Didn't wanna want you_

_Didn't wanna need you so bad _

_Didn't wanna wake up_

_And find that that I was falling so fast_

_Didn't wanna need you _

_Didn't wanna need anyone_

_Now look what you've done_

'Sherlock?'

Sherlocks eyes snapped open. He looked up to see Molly standing in the doorway. Sherlock quickly wiped away his tears with the back of his sleeve.

'I...I wasn't...'

Molly ignored him and grabbed Sherlocks coat from the back of the door. She stooped down next to him, wrapping the coat around his shoulders. He looked at her with glazed eyes.

'...It hurts, Molly.' He said quietly, gesturing to his heart. 'Why does it hurt?'

Molly sighed and pulled him closer, letting him cry on her shoulder.

'Do you miss him?' She asked softly. He nodded, sniffing.

_Now I can't go on without you _

_I'm naked, I can't fake it_

_And I'm not that strong without you_

_Never thought I could love you_

_The way I do_


	27. Love?

**Please be the right age for this kind of thing, blah blah blah...**

**I'm thinking of writing a part 2 to this story...thoughts?**

* * *

><p>'Why did you have to except the bloody case anyway?'<p>

'It was this, or another week of rage and boredom. Which would you have preferred?'

John sighed and leaned back in his seat, staring out of the window to the same-old scenery rush past the train to Newcastle. 'Couldn't you have survived a few more days with no case?'

Sherlock gave him "the look". 'I don't see why you're so annoyed by having to go to Newcastle.'

'I had to cancel my first date with Daisy, re-schedule my entire time-table at the surgery, and cancel my ticket to see the Avengers on Friday.'

Sherlock smirked and carried on staring down at his phone. 'It was your choice to come along-I didn't ask you to.'

'Yes, but I always come along to every case. It's a thing now.'

Sherlock glanced at him, and then back at his phone. 'Well, I enjoy having you as company.'

John smiled at him. 'Really?'

'Mm.'

After a brief discussion with Lestrade about the case, ('yes, fine-do whatever you want') Sherlock and John strolled across Tyne Bridge, scanning the area for the hotel they had booked. The dusk air had become distinctively colder, clearing the streets of youths and art students. The detective and the doctor chatted quietly, before John stopped walking and tapped Sherlock on the shoulder.

'Your shoe-lace is untied.'

Sherlock nodded absent-mindedly. 'I'll do it tomorrow.'

'I'm...sorry?'

Sherlock turned to him. 'I'll tie my shoelaces tomorrow.' He said simply, and carried on walking.

John shook his head and stopped the detective in his tracks by placing a hand on his shoulder. 'What the hell-'

Sherlock looked almost worriedly back at John. 'I can't tie up my shoelaces twice in one day because that's wrong. If they come undone then wait until morning because then it's a new day so it's alright-'

John sighed and stood in front of him. 'I understand.' He said quietly, and stooped down, tying Sherlocks shoelaces for him. Sherlock stared at him as he got up again.

'...Thank you.'

John smiled briefly back at him. 'You're welcome.' He replied, starting to walk off again. Sherlock smiled to himself and followed. He pointed ahead of them towards a large building.

'I believe that's the hotel.'

The hotel room was simple-white walls, two light blue double beds, an en-suite bathroom and a medium-sized television set.

John practically threw the cases down, nodding in satisfaction at the room. 'Not bad.' he said, shutting the door.

'Mm.' Sherlock agreed, removing his coat and scarf. The doctor glanced out of the window and then at his watch.

'It's late. I'm getting ready for bed.'

Sherlock nodded at nothing as John grabbed his bag and shut himself into the bathroom.

John emerged from the bathroom in his pyjamas, frowning slightly. Someone had switched the lights off, and a very familiar nicotine smell was weaving its way around the furniture. He walked back into the main room to see the fire alarm disabled, and the faint outline of Sherlock with a cigarette in his hand. He had his back to John, facing the window. John dashed towards him. 'What the hell are you doing?' He exclaimed.

'Smoking. I didn't bring my nicotine patches.'

'No, you can't smoke in a hotel room.' John replied, taking the cigarette off of him. Sherlock stared at him through half-lidded eyes, exhaling smoke slowly. John gazed back at him, mesmerized.

'You.' Sherlock murmured. John sighed lightly, raising the cigarette to his lips. He inhaled deeply, the end of it glowing red. Sherlock stepped as close as he could towards him and bent his head. 'Breathe.' John breathed out, Sherlocks mouth inhaling the secondary smoke. The detective paused and then pulled John closer, opening his mouth. 'More.' John breathed out, the final tendrils of poison escaping his lungs. Sherlock did the opposite again, breathing in his colleagues smoke.

And then Sherlock moved away from John, as if nothing had happened.

John stubbed out the cigarette and stared at him. 'What...Sher-' He ended up rubbing a hand across his eyes, swearing quietly. '...I don't know what you...'

Sherlock paused and looked at him. A look that made John weak at the knees. He knew he should be angry at him. He knew he should be yelling at the top of his lungs.

'What do you want, Sherlock?' He asked quietly. Sherlock swallowed visibly and turned back to the window.

'I don't know.' He admitted. John nodded.

'Do you want me to leave?'

Sherlock shook his head violently. John nodded again and stood behind the detective, standing on his tip-toes so his mouth could reach his ear. 'Do you want...' He whispered, his breath against the other man. '.._.this?_' He finished, nibbling at Sherlocks ear. Sherlock closed his eyes and tilted his head, silently begging for more. John snaked a hand around Sherlock's neck, tongue flicking out and running along the side of it; Sherlock bit his lip to suppress the moan at the back of his throat. The doctor's hand travelled underneath the detective's shirt, caressing the skin underneath. The other hand pulled at his jacket and shirt, revealing his shoulder; Johns tongue running across the length of the darker haired mans collar bone slowly. Sherlock let the moan escape from his lips, suddenly needing to gasp for breath. He felt John smile against his neck as he muttered, 'what do you want from me?'

'You know...exactly what...I...want.' the detective panted.

'Do I?' John answered. Sherlock snarled in frustration and spun around. John pressed him against the window, locking eyes with him. They looked at each other, unmoving.

'You're so beautiful.' John said at last, running a hand through Sherlocks dark curls.

'I want you _now_.' Sherlock whispered.

John's eyes were dark with desire. 'But you've...you've never had...'

Sherlock pulled John closer. 'Satisfy me.' He growled.

Two words. That's all. That's all it took to change John into a feral animal, attacking his colleague with lethal kisses. Sherlock arched his back against the window and let out a _'yeeessss..._' as John bit down on his bottom lip.

'Sher...'

'Mm.'

John parted slightly. 'I love you.'

Sherlock suddenly pushed John away. 'No.'

John frowned. '...What?'

Sherlock shook his head, stepped past John, and made for the door.

'What did I do?' John asked. Sherlock ignored him, and left the hotel room.


	28. Love? Part 2

'Sherlock!'

_Ignore._

'Sherlock, where the hell are you going?'

_Temperature? Around nine degrees Celsius outside. Should have grabbed my coat. Never mind- too late to go back and get it now._

'Sherlock, stop ignoring me, for God's sake!'

_He's behind me. Why is he following me?_

'Please just tell me what's wrong.'

_Outside? Good plan. He'll probably stop following me since he's in his pyjamas. Keep walking through the double doors into the open air. _

'Sherlock!'

_Ah._

Sherlock stopped walking, his back to John. 'I thought you wouldn't come outside.'

'I'm wearing your coat over the top.'

'Oh.'

John stood still a few feet behind Sherlock. 'Tell me what I did wrong.'

There was a long pause before John saw Sherlock's shoulders sag. 'You told me that you loved me.'

John frowned at the back of Sherlocks head. 'Yes, yes I did,' he said earnestly, '...Is that such a problem?'

'Of course it is.'

'Why?'

Sherlock spun round and raised his eyebrows. His coat was completely swamping John, making him look almost comical. 'Because love is a dangerous disadvantage.'

'I'm...sorry?' The doctor said slowly.

'Loving something or someone makes it more of a target.'

'To what?'

Sherlock sighed irritably. 'I don't know...anything.'

'That's not a proper answer.'

'Please, John, just try to understand-'

John's eyes went wide. 'Do you not love me?'

Sherlock hesitated. 'I'm not sure.'

The shorter man blinked. 'How can you not be sure?'

'I don't know what love feels like.'

John's mouth hung open, his brow furrowing. 'Oh, Sherlock...'

'What?'

'You've never loved someone before?' Sherlock shook his head. 'Not even your family?'

'No.'

'Why not?'

Sherlock suddenly snarled with anger. _'Weren't you listening? I don't do feelings because it's one of the strongest weaknesses a human can have_!' He shouted.

'And yet you still feel anger,' John said calmly. 'And doubt, and fright...' He paused. '...and desire.'

Sherlock sighed inwardly. 'That's unfair.'

'It's really not.' John replied, and then tilted his head slightly to the side. 'You're a human, Sherlock-act like one.'

Sherlock looked distinctively hurt. 'Only human...an ordinary human...' He said quietly, looking at the ground.

John shook his head. 'You are far from ordinary.'

The other man slowly looked up at him again. 'In what sense?'

'In every sense.'

'That's not a proper answer.'

John smirked and then bit his lip. 'Okay, here's a proper answer: you're different from any other human. And it's not just because of your incredible mind and your deductive skills, and your way with words.' He laughed at himself. 'And then there are the things that I find utterly sexy about you. Your voice, oh God, your _voice_, Sherlock. No matter what you're saying, you make it sound incredibly seductive-Christ; you could read the yellow pages and make it sound like poetry. And then there's your appearance. God, where do I start? You look so different from everyone else-your features scream "elegant" in every way, Sherlock. Your eyes are...I can't even think of a word for them other than piercing blue-grey; they remind me of London fog. Then there's your mouth,' He sighed and shook his head slightly. 'The amount of times I have been silently aching to kiss you...it's like your lips beg for it. Your hair, waiting to be touched, ruffled, pulled, tugged. Your neck...if vampires existed, swear to God, you'd be their first victim. It's a weak spot of yours, I can tell. Maybe that's one of the reasons why you wear a scarf all the time. Even when I've just brushed passed it when you're sitting down I've heard you sigh slightly. Sherlock; mad, brilliant, elegant, beautiful...' John smiled for a heartbeat. '...and_ mine_.'

Sherlock licked his lips, eyes half-lidded. 'Get inside.'

'Why?'

'Do you have the key card to the room?'

'Yes.'

Sherlock stepped towards him. 'Hotel room. In. Now.'

John started to smile. 'Why?'

'Because if we stay out here then we'll probably get arrested.'

John laughed. I see. Has talking about you really turned you on?'

'Oh, yes.'

'...Do you love me?'

Sherlock didn't say anything. His slight smile and nod said everything for him.


	29. Our fairytale

'Hello sweethearts! Goodness, he's growing fast!'

'Mrs H, is Sherlock in?'

'Yes dear, he's in his living room, sulking.'

'Thank you.'

Thud, thud, thud up the stairs.

'Sherlock!' John said brightly. Sherlock looked up at him slowly.

'Why are you here? You don't live here anymore.'

John rolled his eyes. 'Nice to see you too.'

Sherlock sighed and placed his violin on the floor. 'What do you want?'

'Mary and I are going out for the night.'

'So?'

John hesitated and brought his hand which he behind his back in front of him. Linked hands with him, was a three year-old boy with fluffy sandy hair wearing dark blue dungarees. 'I was wandering if you could look after Arthur for a couple of hours.'

Sherlock stared at Arthur with disgust. 'Please tell me that you're joking.'

'Sherlock.'

'I am not looking after Arthur.'

'It'll be no longer than three hours.'

Sherlock looked horrified. 'What!'

'Please! Mary and I need a break.'

'Then pay for a baby-sitter.'

'You know that we don't have much money.'

Sherlock didn't reply.

'Please,' John said, 'you'll be doing Mary and I a massive favour.'

There was a long pause. Eventually Sherlock said a quiet, 'fine.' John's face lit up. 'But I'm doing this for you, not for Mary.'

'He's very well-behaved. He's just been changed and fed-I've left his stuff in the corridor. If you really can't cope, Mrs. Hudson said she'll help.' Sherlock nodded slightly. John smiled. 'Thankyou.'

'I know.'

John turned to face Arthur, stooping down to his level. 'We'll be back soon, yeah?'

Arthur looked at the floor. 'Buh-bye.'

John quickly kissed his forehead and stood up straight, turning to leave. 'Any problems, just give me a ring.' He called as he left. Then there was silence. Arthur looked at Sherlock with large eyes. Sherlock frowned at him.

'What?'

Arthur squared his shoulders and waved. 'Hello.'

Sherlock sighed irritably and turned his head to look at the fireplace. Arthur blinked a few times, and then copied him. Sherlock looked back at the boy and tilted his head. Arthur did the same.

'Stop that.'

Arthur stuck out his bottom lip. 'No!'

Sherlock frowned. 'Don't argue with me. You're three years old.'

Arthur ignored him and started to wander towards the fireplace. His eyes darted at every single insignificant object, before resting on the violin beside the detectives chair. He started to pick it up.

Sherlocks eyes widened with horror. 'No! No, no, no!' He gabbled, bolting down towards the toddler. Arthur plucked one of the strings, eyes lighting up with delight. Sherlock quickly grabbed the violin off of him before any more damage could be inflicted. Arthur looked down at his empty hand, and then at Sherlock. He began screwing up his face, smile turning into a frown.

Sherlock started to panic. 'Don't cry, please don't cry!'

'You...snatched!'

Sherlock said a quiet apology before raising the violin to his chin, picking up the bow. Arthur looked up at him with wet eyes as he started to play "Twinkle, twinkle little star". The boy clapped his hands and squealed with awe. Sherlock found himself smiling as Arthur started dancing vaguely, which mainly consisted of stomping his feet and jumping up and down on the spot. Sherlock finished and bowed as Arthur clapped happily, and wrapped himself around Sherlocks leg. Sherlock set the violin and bow down and looked at the boy who was firmly attached to his shin.

'...Right.'

He tried lifting his leg, which made Arthur scream like he was on a low-budget fairground ride. He rolled his eyes and gently peeled the boy off of his leg, setting him down on the floor again. Arthur instantly yanked on Sherlocks arm so that he was sitting on the floor, before hugging him. Sherlock raised both arms and frowned, before sighing and patting his back gingerly. Arthur looked up at him, his hair not dissimilar to dandelion fluff. Sherlock smirked and flattened it down. 'You look a lot like your dad.' He said quietly, as Arthur started to climb on his knees. 'He's a good father to you. With him behind you, you'll be amazing. You could do anything.'

Arthur rolled off his lap and pointed up at him. 'Daddy!'

Sherlock shook his head. 'No, no, I'm not daddy. John's daddy.'

Arthur gave a quiet 'oh' as a response, and started gnawing on Sherlocks hand.

'I'm no relative of yours.' Sherlock said. 'You've got your mum, and your dad. I've only met your mum a couple of times. Once was enough; I don't know what your dad sees in her. But, he's happy, and that's the main thing.'

Arthur stopped mid-bite and looked up at the door, grinned happily and pointed at it. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and glanced at what was hanging on it. He looked back at Arthur. 'It's a coat.'

'Sherlock!'

Sherlock blinked at him. 'I'm sorry?'

'Sherlock coat!'

The detective paused, '...Has John described me to you?'

'Sherlock, he wears a big, big coat, and it's blue.' Arthur resited. 'He, he also wears a s... a s...' He frowned, trying to pronounce the word.

'...Scarf?'

'Yeah. A blue one.'

'How do you know this?'

'Daddy. He tells me 'bout Sherlock and him when I can't sleep.'

Sherlocks mouth fell open slightly. 'I am your bed-time story...'

'I like the one with the dog.'

The detective smiled. 'Me too.'

'...Mummy doesn't like it when daddy tells the stories.' Arthur said, looking at the floor.

Sherlocks face fell. 'Why not?'

Arthur shrugged. 'She, she gets cross with daddy when he talks 'bout Sherlock.'

'...Does she shout?'

Again, Arthur shrugged. 'A bit.'

Sherlock sighed and picked him up, balancing him on his knee. 'That's not very nice of her.'

' 'S okay. I put my hands on my ears.'

'You shouldn't have to in the first place.' The detective said, ruffling his hair. 'You're very brave.'

'I know!'

Sherlock laughed. 'Shall I tell you a story?'

Arthur nodded violently. The adult wrapped his arms around him, the toddlers head lulling against his chest.

'Once there was a boy called John. He loved travelling around places and saving the world with his friends. One day, John hurt himself, and had to stop travelling. This made John very sad with his ordinary, every-day life, because he enjoyed helping other people.

'And then one day, John met another boy called Sherlock. Sherlock was very clever, which made John very impressed. They decided to live together with a nice lady who would give them food and look after them. Sherlock and John went on adventures together all over England; there were mysteries to solve and people to save. John was happy, he was so, so happy when he was around Sherlock. They made each other a better person. They saved each other's lives so many times, defeated evil people and helped good ones. They saved the world...and didn't even try. Then they met a boy called Arthur, who went on adventures with them. They didn't need anyone else, they were all happy- Sherlock wasn't lonely, John wasn't sad, and Arthur never had to hear shouting ever again. Every wish they ever had came true just like that.'

Sherlock looked down at Arthur, to see him fast asleep in his arms. He smiled. 'I'm glad that you have John, even if I can't.' He said softly.

'Sherlock!' John called from half-way up the stairs. 'How have you coped-' He opened the door to see Sherlock asleep on the floor, head leaning against his chair with Arthur curled up against his chest. John sighed slightly and hesitantly walked over to them. Sherlock opened one eye to see John sliding down next to them.

'Wha-'

John gently put a hand to his cheek. 'Just for tonight, let's pretend. Let's have our fairytale.' He whispered.

Sherlock paused, smiling lazily at him, before closing his eyes again, John doing the same. Between them, Arthur snuffled lightly in his sleep.


	30. Our Fairytale part 2

**Christ, this is a bit long! **

**ILoveMyIrishDarlings gave me the idea for this, so thankyouuuu!**

* * *

><p>'Why didn't you come home yesterday?'<p>

'I'm sorry?'

Mary smirked at herself and carried on sorting through the washing. 'You don't need me to repeat myself, _darling_.'

John sighed, leaning against the door-frame. 'Arthur had fallen asleep-I thought it would be unfair to wake him up to take him home.'

'Then why did you stay with him?'

John raised an eyebrow. 'Because he's my son?'

Mary looked at him. 'And I'm your wife.'

'But you knew where I would be.'

Mary suddenly straightned up. 'Don't take that tone with me.'

John blinked at her. 'What tone?'

'You're doing it again!'

'Calm down, Arthur will hear us-'

'Oh yeah, maybe you could tell him another one of those bloody Sherlock stories to make him happy!'

'Not this again.'

'Yes, this again-I want you to stop telling them to him.'

John stared at her. 'What? Why?'

'You know why.'

'I really don't.'

Mary pointed upwards. 'Because Arthur doesn't stop talking about him! Every day, it's "Sherlock saved daddy", and "Sherlock jumped off a building for daddy"; I'm sick of it!'

John winced slightly. 'Please don't talk about the whole suicide thing.'

'Why not? It was ages ago. Get over it.'

John stared at her, open-mouthed. 'You...' He swallowed. 'Take that back.'

'Why? He's fine now, as well I know-you don't stop going on about him.'

'Please, stop it.'

'Why should I?'

'Because Arthur is trying to be a child.'

Mary laughed. 'What's that supposed to mean? He's three years old, of course he's a child.'

'He doesn't always feel it.'

'What?'

'Haven't you heard him? He's three years old, and he's saying how brave he is, and how he doesn't like the arguments!'

'Are you calling me and unfit mother?'

'No, I'm just-'

'You can talk! You're not exactly the perfect role-model; talking about that man every second...' She stopped talking and frowned at him. '...If I didn't know better, I'd say you had a bit of a thing for Sherlock...'

John's mouth went dry. 'What are you talking about?'

'Or maybe I don't know better.'

'You can't be serious.'

'Can you blame me?' Mary suddenly shouted, making John jump. 'Who knows what you two got up to when you lived together?'

'Stop it.'

'Oh, touched a nerve, did I? You and him-you make me sick!' She hissed, throwing a damp t-shirt at him. John stepped away.

'For God's sake!'

'Why did I marry you? You two were clearly made for each other!'

'Are you questioning our marriage?'

'You know what-go. Leave.'

'...What?'

'Get out. Take Arthur with you.'

John stared at the floor, nodding slightly, before darting upstairs to Arthur's room. Arthur was hiding under his duvet, hands over his ears. John pulled back the duvet slowly. Arthur looked up at him.

'Have you stopped shouting now?' He asked.

John nodded. 'You and I are going out for a bit.'

'How long?'

'I don't know. A few days?'

'Like a holiday?'

John took a deep breath. 'Yeah. Just like a holiday.'

'Is mummy coming?'

'She's...she's busy with work at the moment.'

'Oh.'

'Do you want to help me pack?' John asked, rifling through Arthurs wardrobe.

'Where are we going?' Arthur asked.

John stopped picking out clothes. '...I'm not sure.' He turned to his son. 'Where would you like to go?'

'Sherlocks house!'

John bit his lip. '...I don't think that's a very good idea, sweetheart.'

'Why not? I want to see Sherlock!'

'I know love, so do I, but mummy doesn't really like Sherlock.'

'But mummy isn't coming.'

'...That's true...'

'So let's go!'

John hesitated. 'I don't know. There's not much room at the flat, and I don't think Sherlock will be too happy.'

'But I want to see Sherlock!'

'Alright!' John snapped. He blinked slowly and collected himself. 'Alright,' he said calmly, 'we'll see Sherlock. Just for a bit.'

Arthur clapped happily. 'Sherlock!' He repeated. John smiled at him.

* * *

><p>'Sherlock, you've got visitors!' Mrs Hudson called from downstairs.<p>

Sherlock rolled his eyes and strolled downstairs, stopping half-way when he saw who his visitors were. John looked up at him, laden with luggage and a three year-old boy.

'...Hello.' Sherlock said finally.

'Hello.'

'...What's...?'

'I'll explain later.' John said quickly, setting Arthur down. The toddler immediately dashed up the stairs towards the detective.

'Sherlock!' He squealed, tugging on his trouser leg.

Sherlock smiled down at him and ruffled his hair. 'Hey, Arthur.'

'We've come to see you.'

'Yes, I can see that.'

Mrs Hudson looked up at Arthur. 'Shall I get you something to eat, sweetie?'

Arthur nodded and followed her into her kitchen, leaving Sherlock and John to look at the floor awkwardly.

Sherlock broke the silence. 'Do you want to explain?'

'Do I need to?'

Sherlock looked up at him. 'No.'

'Mm.'

'I'm...sorry.'

'Yeah.' John paused. '...Listen, I know I shouldn't ask, but-'

'It's fine.'

'...Sorry?'

'You and Arthur can come and stay with me for a couple of days.'

John's eyes widened. 'Really?'

'Of course. You may stay as long as you need to.'

'Thank you. I owe you one.'

'Not at all.' Sherlock said, turning to walk back up the stairs. 'But if Arthur messes up any of my experiments, you're out.'

John smirked. 'Agreed.'

* * *

><p>'Arthurs asleep.' John said, walking back into the living-room. 'I've put him into my old room.'<p>

Sherlock looked up at him from his chair. They had pushed their chairs closer together so they could both face the fireplace. 'How is he?'

'He's asking a lot of questions, but he's fine.' John answered, wandering towards the window. The rain had revved up again, covering the evening in thick, dark clouds. He glanced at the pavement to see a lone umbrella turned inside-out skipping across the pavement.

'Does he know what's happening?' Sherlock asked.

John shook his head. 'He's too young for this, for any of this.' He replied, sitting on his chair.

There was silence, before Sherlock said a quiet, 'this was my fault.'

John ran a hand through his hair. 'No it's not.'

'It is slightly.'

'None of it's your fault.'

Another silence.

'...John?'

'Mm?'

Sherlock hesitated. '...Yesterday, when you came to pick Arthur up...' John's mouth went dry. 'You sat next you me, and told me to pretend that we had our fairy-tale. And when I woke up, you and Arthur had gone-'

'I shouldn't have said that to you. I was being selfish.'

'...In what sense?'

'Forget it. Just forget I ever said anything.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'I can't.'

John looked away. 'Neither can I.' He swore quietly and rested his head in his hand. 'I'm married, I have a son and I had to go and fall for...' He stopped himself.

Sherlocks mouth fell open. He looked at the floor. '...I don't know what to say.'

'I really shouldn't be saying this. This is all wrong...' He looked up at the fireplace, mesmerized by the flames. 'Sometimes I imagine that I never got married, that I was still here, with you. I sometimes wonder where we would be-if I had told you how much you meant to me, would we still be friends? Would we have become lovers?' He leaned back in his chair. 'The amount of times I've rehearsed what I would say-how I would tell you how I felt, what you would say back...' John's shoulders sagged. 'The way you would kiss me...our first night together...the way you would wrap your arms around me afterwards, whispering everything I've always wanted you to say as we both slowly drifted off to sleep.' He looked at the detective. 'You were everything to me, Sherlock. And my God, I know it's wrong, but you still are. I've been married to Mary for a few years now; the amount of times we've argued and she gone to her friends, or I've gone to Mikes or Harrys...I've never stayed here with you because you're just too tempting. Whenever I see you now, I see something so...wonderfully wrong.'

Sherlock sank back in his chair, managing a quiet, 'John.'

'I've said too much.'

'Does Mary know? Has she suspected anything?'

John nodded. 'That's why I'm here.' He said, looking at his shoes.

'So it is my fault.'

'...I don't know. Slightly.'

'Sorry.'

'No, don't.'

'...You know it's difficult for me to speak about emotions.'

'Yeah.'

'...I...'

John looked over at him and frowned. 'Sherlock?' Sherlocks eyes were fixated on the fireplace, eyes shining. 'What-'

Sherlock tilted his head to the side. 'There was always something different about you, John. Before you, I couldn't see other people eye-to-eye. But you changed that.' He pursed his lips. 'You made me human. You made me real; like you turned the on switch. No one else before you even attempted-but you did; you broke through the boundaries I've held up my whole life. And then you left. You got married. It was like I had lost you, like you had gone and were never coming back. I know you're going to hate me for saying this, but it hurt. It was like all the things you did before was over, like you'd erased them all. I shouldn't make this more difficult than it already is for you but I can't not say it now. This could be so much easier if I didn't care about you at all.' He swallowed. 'I love you, John. I'm sorry, but I needed to say it before I exploded.'

John looked away. 'Oh God...' He whispered, and then brushed a hand over his face. 'Oh God.'

'I'm sorry.'

John cursed quietly. 'What do I do now?' Sherlock didn't say anything. 'Sherlock!' John raised his voice.

Sherlock gnawed at the skin around his finger-nail. 'I don't know.'

John stood up. 'Why did you tell me? How can you say this now?' He faced Sherlock, shaking his shoulders. 'What do I do! Tell me what to do!'

Sherlock bit his lip and winced. 'I don't know.' He repeated.

John's voice became a desperate shout. _'Tell me_!' He yelled, bursting into tears. Sherlock looked at him.

'John.' He said softly, placing a hand on the shorter mans waist. John collapsed against Sherlocks chest, sobbing loudly.

'I can't do this, Sherlock!' John spluttered, curling up into a ball.

Sherlock sighed and wrapped his arms around him. 'It's okay, John. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything.'

John looked up at him. 'What do you want me to do?'

Sherlock shook his head. 'I...I want you and Arthur to be happy.'

'...What if Arthur didn't exist?'

Sherlock looked down at him with an open mouth, shocked. 'What?'

'I know, I shouldn't say that, but what if he didn't?'

'...I don't know. I suppose it would change the situation.'

'Mm.' John hesitated, tears lessening. 'Sherlock...can you...can you kiss me?'

Sherlock swallowed. 'You're married. You know I can't.'

'I know. I just wanted to pretend that I wasn't.'

'Daddy?' A small voice came from behind them.

John practically threw himself off of Sherlocks lap, standing up. Arthur looked up at him, rubbing his eye.

'You okay, Arthur?'

'I had a bad dream...' He frowned at his father. 'Why are you crying? Grown-ups aren't allowed to cry.'

John wiped his eyes. 'I'm not crying, sweetheart. Come on.' He said, ushering Arthur back into his room. The toddler clamoured back into bed, with John sitting on it next to him.

'Daddy?'

'Yeah?'

'Can I have a story please?'

'Of course you can. Which one do you want?'

'One of you and Sherlock!'

Right on cue, Sherlock strolled into the room, leaning against the doorframe.

'Okay.' John said. 'Do you want Sherlock to come and help tell the story?'

'Yeah.'

John looked at Sherlock, who obediently walked over to the bed and sat down next to him.

'Which one would you like to hear?'

'I like the one Sherlock told me yesterday.'

John frowned slightly and looked at Sherlock. The detective blushed.

'Ah.' Sherlock said quietly.

'Did you tell him a story?'

'I may have slightly.'

John let a smile creep across his lips. 'That's...Thank you.'

'Shall I?' Sherlock said. John nodded. So Sherlock told the story of him and his old work partner. How John was sad and without his army life. How he met Sherlock, and went on adventures with him around England. Saving people, solving mysteries together. How Arthur came on their adventures with them. How he never had to hear the shouting again. By the time he had finished, Arthur was snuffling peacefully in his sleep. Dreaming of running across London with his father and his friend, saving the world and not even trying.

John sighed and leaned his head against Sherlocks shoulder. Sherlock automatically wrapped an arm around him, kissing his forehead.


	31. Our Fairytale part 3

**Final part of Our Fairytale! Feel free to carry it on if you like, as long as you credit me as the original =3**

**Woohoo! 69 followers! (tee hee...maturity is over-rated)**

* * *

><p>John blinked himself awake slowly. He frowned slightly, not quite aware as to where he was. He looked at his surroundings; he was in bed, but what his head was resting on didn't feel like one. He looked around to see that he was resting on Sherlocks chest, the detective still asleep. John sat bolt upright, panicking. He looked down at himself, and then at Sherlock. He breathed out slowly in relief-they were both still wearing the same clothes as they were yesterday.<p>

Sherlock stirred in his sleep, opening half an eye to look at John. 'Morning.'

'How did I get here?' John asked.

Sherlock blinked. 'You fell asleep on my shoulder last night, so I carried you in here. I was going to sleep on the sofa, but you kind of...attached yourself to my arm in your sleep.'

'Oh.' John looked at him. '...Is...We didn't...?'

Sherlock smirked. 'No, we didn't do anything.'

'Ha. Just checking.' John said, blushing. '...Sorry for falling asleep on you.'

'Don't apologise, I didn't mind.'

John smiled lazily and settled back down, resting his head on Sherlocks chest again.

Sherlock ran a hand through John's hair, the other arm wrapping around his waist. 'You okay?'

'I don't know. All of this is so surreal. I don't understand what I'm meant to do any more.'

'I'm sorry I can't be much help to you.'

'Don't be ridiculous. You're helping me just by being here.'

'...Really?'

'Really.' There was a pause, before John propped himself up to look at Sherlock properly. 'Listen. What you said last night...' He looked away. 'Did you mean all of what you said? Or were you just saying it because you felt sorry for me?'

'I meant it.'

'...Okay.'

'You don't believe me do you?'

'Well-'

Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows. 'You are well aware that I don't do relationships or love, or anything. You're my exception. I love you. Deal with it.'

John smiled and kissed his nose. 'Thanks.'

Sherlock chuckled. He looked up at John and placed a hand on his cheek. John sighed.

'You don't know how desperate I am to kiss you right now.' The army doctor said.

Sherlock shook his head. 'You can't. You know you can't.'

'I know.' He looked at his wedding ring, and then back at Sherlock. 'I love Mary. I really, honestly do. But...oh...' He flopped back down again. 'I don't know!'

'Neither do I.'

There was a knock on the bedroom door.

'Boys?' Mrs Hudson called. 'Can I come in?'

John rolled off of Sherlocks chest. 'Yup.'

Mrs Hudson opened the door, completely unfazed to see Sherlock and John in the same bed. 'Someone dropped this off for you, John dear.' She said, placing a small brown parcel on the side table.

'Thank you.'

'No problem, love.' She said, leaving the room and closing the door behind her. John stood up out of bed, grabbing the parcel. He sat back down next to Sherlock again, unwrapping it. He frowned when a ring fell out of it. He glanced at Sherlock.

'It's Marys.' He said quietly. He fished out the note that accompanied it.

_John,_

_Hope you're happy with him. Left your stuff outside the flat. Arthurs too._

_Mary._

John stared at the note. 'No...' He managed.

Sherlock read it over his shoulder. '...Oh God.'

John bolted out of the room and down stairs. 'Mrs Hudson!' he called. His land-lady frowned at him.

'Yes, dear?'

'Who gave this to you?'

'Well, she told me not to say-'

'Please! It's urgent!'

'...Well, it was Mary.'

'Did she say anything else?'

'Not really, she looked like she needed to be elsewhere-'

'Which way did she go?'

'Right, towards the station.'

John sprinted out of the front door, looking right. But Mary was already long gone, probably on a train by now. John let out the smallest whimper in defeat, and shuffled back towards the flat. He stared down at the bin-bags filled with clothes, dragging them inside with heavy feet. He shut the door behind him, leaning against it.

'John?' Sherlock said from the top of the stairs.

John looked at the floor. 'Mary's gone.' He said emptily.

Sherlocks shoulders sagged. 'I'm sorry.'

'Yeah.'

'You can cry if you like.'

'I can't.' John said. '...It's...it's like it's not real. Like it's not happening.'

'Can you try calling her?'

John shook his head. 'She won't answer.'

Sherlock put his hands in his pockets. 'The bin-bags-'

'Mine and Arthurs things.'

'So you're staying here?'

'According to her, I am.'

'Hello!' Arthur said brightly behind Sherlock. The detective smiled and picked him up.

'Hey Arthur.'

Arthur gnawed on Sherlocks finger.

'No, no, no. That's not food.' Sherlock said, pulling his finger away. 'Shall I get you some proper breakfast?'

Arthur nodded and then looked at his father. 'Is daddy okay?'

'Yeah. He just needs a minute.' Sherlock replied, carrying him upstairs.

* * *

><p>John walked into the living room to see Arthur perched on the sofa next to Sherlock with a piece of toast in his hand. Sherlock looked up at John as Arthur scrambled off the sofa, scampering towards his father. 'Daddy, I got toast.'<p>

'I know, sweetheart.'

'It's really nice.'

'That's lovely. Did Sherlock give it to you?'

'Yeah.'

'That was nice of him-did you say thank you?'

Arthur mumbled a 'oh yeah' and turned to Sherlock, 'thank you!'

Sherlock smiled. 'You're welcome.'

John sat next to Sherlock as Arthur wandered out of the room.

'...Are you alright?' Sherlock asked.

'Yeah.'

'You're lying.'

John looked at him. 'I'm fine.'

'And by fine, you mean...'

'...Like everything's falling apart.'

Sherlock nodded and wrapped an arm around John's shoulders. John automatically leaned into his chest.

'Is there anything I can do to help?' Sherlock asked.

'I'll let you know.'

Arthur wandered back into the room. 'Daddy?'

'Yes love?'

'Is mummy coming back?'

'I don't know darling. I don't think she likes me very much.'

Arthur frowned. 'But mummies and daddies aren't meant to not like each other.'

'I know, but it's maybe for the best. I'm sure she'll come and see you one day.'

'Oh.' Arthur tilted his head at them. 'Do I have two daddies then?'

Sherlock was thrown out of his day-dream. He looked at John.

'...Yeah.' John said, smiling. 'Maybe.'

'Defiantly.' Sherlock replied.

'...Really?'

'Well, if...that is, if you want me to...'

'Of course I do.'

Sherlock smiled and kissed John on the lips for a second. Arthur stuck his tongue out.

'Yuck!'

'Oi, don't be rude.'

'Grown-ups are so yucky.'

Sherlock and John laughed, whilst John stood up.

'Come on; get changed out of your jim-jams.'

Arthur's eyes shone. 'I can do that all by myself!' He boasted, dashing off to his room.

John looked at Sherlock. 'I've thought of how you could help me.'

'How?'

John didn't hesitate as he raised his left hand towards Sherlock. Sherlock opened his mouth slightly. 'Are you sure?'

'I have been for a while. Set me free.'

Sherlock smiled, before slipping off John's wedding ring.


	32. Our Fairytale part 4

**Right...you know I said that the last chapter was the last part of 'Our Fairytale'...well, I got a couple of people asking for a part 4...so here it is!**

* * *

><p>If this time a few months ago John woke up in Sherlocks bed with nothing but a bed-sheet on, he would have had a fit.<p>

Now a days however, all John can do is smile.

He woke up, looking down at the arms wrapped around his waist, the owner of them sleeping behind him. He smiled and kissed the knuckles, before rolling over to look at his partner.

'...John, stop staring at me when I'm trying to sleep.' Sherlock said, eyes still closed.

John's heart lurched with surprise. 'You're awake!'

'Your deductions just get better and better.'

'Hey,' John said, hitting him lightly. 'Be nice.'

'I'm always nice.' Sherlock replied, opening his eyes.

'Your interpretation of nice isn't exactly the same as mine.' John said, lazily winding one of Sherlocks curls around his finger. '...Sherlock?'

'Yes love?'

'How long have we been together?'

Sherlock pursed his lips in thought. 'Six months, two weeks, five days, eighteen hours and...' he glanced at the clock on the side table. '...Twenty-six minutes.'

'Nothing's really changed much, has it? I mean, from when we first lived together. We still go on cases together, we still report to Scotland Yard.'

'...You're saying this like it's a bad thing.'

'No, it's not. That's what I mean; I _love_ the fact that nothing's changed; everything's just as amazing as last time. Just with added Arthur...and lots of sex.'

They both laughed, Sherlock snuggling into the crook of Johns neck.

'Well, that's true.'

'Indeed it is.'

'Daddies!' Arthur called out from behind the door. They both sat up, keeping the bed-sheet firmly wrapped around their waists.

'Yes, Arthur?' John said. Arthur toddled into the room, clamouring onto the bed.

'I'm awake.'

'Yup, we can see that.'

'Daddy-Sherlock?'

'Mm?'

'Are we going anywhere today?'

'You've got nursery today love, and John and I have work.'

Arthur groaned dramatically. 'But nursery's boring!'

'I know, but you need to go.' John said.

'Can't I come with you?'

'Not really.' Sherlock said. 'We're examining a corpse today.'

Arthur sighed. 'Okay.'

'Come on, get yourself dressed.'

Arthur nodded and shuffled off of the bed, scampering back to his room.

John looked at his partner. 'We should get dressed too.'

Sherlock groaned and head-butted Johns shoulder. 'No.'

'Yes.'

'I really don't want to.'

'Come on- triple murder with no obvious cause of death; you've been looking forward to this all week.'

'But my wardrobe's all the way over _there_.'

John rolled his eyes. 'Oh, and five feet away is too much effort.'

'Mhm.'

'Go on-get the hell up.'

'That's what she said.'

'Sherlock!'

'Okay, okay!' Sherlock said finally, sitting up out of bed. 'I don't know why you're nagging me-you need to get ready as well.'

'Yes, but you take about four hours longer than I do.'

'How rude.' Sherlock said, throwing on his underwear. 'Just because I take pride in my appearance.'

'You practically deduce yourself in the mirror every morning.'

Sherlock shoved on his black trousers. 'Why would I need to deduce _myself_?'

'You tell me.'

'I don't deduce myself. I just...give myself an internal pep-talk.'

'Why do _you_ need a pep-talk?'

Sherlock shrugged, picking out a white shirt from his wardrobe. 'I'm not sure. It just seems to be a thing now.'

'Well, what do you say to yourself?' John asked.

'I don't know, "you're a good detective, you're successful," and more recently, "you have an amazing partner.".'

John smiled. 'Thanks.'

'Not at all.'

'So when did this start? I mean, after my divorce I've been giving myself little pick-me-ups, but you-'

Sherlock buttoned up his shirt. 'I really don't know. I suppose my parent's didn't exactly help my self-esteem. Mycroft wasn't wonderful either.'

'Ah.'

'Yes.'

'Not a great childhood?'

'Not exactly.' He finished buttoning up his jacket. 'See? That didn't take so long-' He spun round to see John fully dressed leaning against the wall. 'How long have you been ready?'

'A while.' John said, leaving the room. 'You forgot your socks.'

* * *

><p>After dropping Arthur off at nursery, Sherlock and John took a cab towards St. Bart's Hospital. After a brief discussion with Lestrade, they found themselves once again in the lab, Sherlock staring down at the victims' blood through a microscope. He tapped a tuneless rhythm on the desk, glancing occasionally at John.<p>

'I never actually asked what you were doing.' John said.

Sherlock blinked up at him, and then looked back into the microscope. 'I'm sorry?'

'When we first met, you were conducting an experiment. I never asked what it was for.'

'Oh...It was a new way of testing blood.'

'Ah.' John said, walking aimlessly around the room. 'Do you still use it?'

'I...Sometimes.'

John frowned at him and leaned against the desk. 'Are you alright?'

'Pardon?'

'You're very hyped up about something.'

'No I'm not.'

'Yes you are.'

'It's just the case, that's all.'

'You're a bad liar-you're never nervous about a case.'

'Okay, it's not the case.'

'Then what is it?'

Sherlock hesitantly put a hand into his breast pocket, sliding the single item that was in it towards John.

John stared at it. '...What's that?'

'What does it look like?'

'...It's a ring.'

'Well done. Anything else?'

'...Well...' John leaned over it. 'It's got something engraved on it. It says...' He squinted slightly. He suddenly swallowed visibly and leaned back. '...It says "John".' Sherlock took a deep breath and stood up in front of John. 'Oh Christ...is this for me?'

'Yes.'

John's eyes widened. 'Are you-?'

'Yes.'

'You're going to ask me...'

'Yes I am.'

'Jesus...this is why you've been so jumpy this morning.'

'John-'

'This is unexpected. You're good at keeping things quiet.'

'John, can-'

'How did you even get to a jeweller?'

'Can I ask you the question?'

'Oh yeah. Sorry.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes and held onto one of John's hands, the other picking up the ring. 'John Watson-'

'Don't you want to get down on one knee?'

Sherlock stopped, sighing.

'Or, or not.' John said quickly.

'Fine, I'll get down on one knee!'

'No, you don't have to.'

'Yes I do. I can't not do it now.'

'I don't mind if you just want to stand.'

'No.' Sherlock said, kneeling down. 'John Wat-'

'Do we have enough money for a wedding?'

'I haven't even asked you yet.'

'I know, but we've got to think about these things ahead of time. How much does a suit fitting cost? I mean, its expensive getting one suit done, but _two_. And they charge by size, don't they? And since you're quite tall, yours is going to be a bit more expensive than mine-'

'Shut up and let me ask the bloody question!'

'Sorry.'

'John Watson...'He paused, half-expecting John to butt in again. '...Marry me?'

John let an enormous grin spread across his face. 'Yes!'

'Really?'

'Of course, you idiot!' John exclaimed, extending out his left hand. Sherlock stood, slipping on the ring before wrapping his arms around him, laughing with delight. John pulled his face towards his, melting into a kiss.

And that's when Lestrade walked in.

He blinked at them. '...Shall I come back later?'

Sherlock and John broke apart.

'No,' Sherlock said, picking up his coat and scarf. 'You'll have the results on your desk tomorrow.' He said, walking towards the detective inspector. He grinned and kissed his forehead with a loud 'mwah!', before practically skipping out of the room.

Lestrade stood, dazed, slowly looking at John. '...Have I missed something?'


	33. Our Fairytale part 5

**Final chapter of Our Fairytale! I mean it this time! **

**Couple of things to say- This part has the return of some old friends :D (cheers hottemperedpixie and spaceshipzoom).**

** A bit of a steamy scene, but it's not too bad. I've written worse.**

**Aaaand the song near the end (which I do not own) is by Ron Pope. **

* * *

><p>John was right-they didn't have enough money of a wedding, or rather, civil partnership.<p>

It had taken them months to save up to even consider a wedding, whilst having to have enough aside for three mouths to feed. Sherlock even considered selling his violin at one point, until John quickly reminded him that within a few days of being violin-less, Sherlock would probably commit suicide.

They found themselves in a becoming-familiar scenario on a late evening; curled up next to each other on the sofa, pouring over wedding magazines and a calculator. Every once in a while they would punch in a few numbers, and draw a sharp intake of breath once they had seen the total.

'Couldn't we get a loan out?' John asked, even though he knew the answer.

Sherlock shook his head. 'We wouldn't have enough to pay it back.'

'Yeah, I figured.' John said quietly. 'How much have we got?'

'Not much-it's going to take a while to save up for this.'

John yawned and rested his head on Sherlocks lap. 'I'm exhausted.'

'I know-you've been dozing off all evening.'

'Sorry.'

'Don't worry about it.' Sherlock said, gently running a hand through Johns hair and then bringing his phone out.

'Who are you texting?'

'Some old friends.'

'...Friends?'

'Well, acquaintances. They could help.'

'Would they come round at a time like this?'

'They don't sleep much.'

'Oh.' John sat up next to Sherlock. 'We'll get the money somehow.'

'We will, but Arthur would have probably left home by then.'

John chuckled. 'Sherlock Holmes-ever the optimist.' He said, before kissing him quickly. He parted and then looked up at his fiancé, to be almost instantly pulled closer by him again and kissed more forcefully. John sighed lightly as he was slowly lowered on to his back, Sherlock on top of him. The doctor let out an "mmm", as Sherlock trailed kisses along his neck.

'I think you need a break, John.' He whispered, pinning down own of his partners arms.

'I...ah, I think we should...be getting back to...'

'Hm?' Sherlock smirked, running his other hand underneath John's shirt.

The army doctor bit his lip, eyes closing. 'Sher...'

'I think you need to relax. You're stressed. Would you like me to fix that for you?'

'Oh...God yes.' John murmured. 'But..._Oh!_' He gasped as Sherlocks teeth grazed over his Adams-apple. 'Sherlock!'

'Don't worry about the wedding.'

'Uh-huh.'

'Worst comes to it, we just won't have a cake.'

And then Keri Fenton burst through the door. 'Did someone say cake?'

Sherlock yelped in surprise and fell onto the floor, John sitting bolt-upright.

'We got your text.' She said, completely unfazed. Megan James followed her into the room.

'Hey, Sherlock.'

Sherlock stared up at them. 'You could've knocked.'

Megan turned to Keri. 'I told you we should have!'

'Yeah, but this is more of a surprise.'

'They could've been shagging!'

'Yes, we were about to actually.' Sherlock said.

'See?'

Keri shrugged. 'Ah well, not my problem.'

'Clearly.' Sherlock muttered, standing up. He turned to John. 'Keri Fenton and Megan James. We were at school together.'

'Right.' John said. 'Hello.'

' 'Sup.' Keri replied, more interested in her phone than the conversation. 'Why are we here?'

Sherlock straightened his jacket. 'You two have always been good at finance.'

Keri snorted. 'That's a lie.'

'And I was wandering if you could help us with something.'

'Like what?' Megan asked.

'We need to organise a wedding, and-'

'What wedding? Do we know them?'

'Mine, so-'

Keri's eyes widened. 'You're getting married? To who?'

'John. As I was-'

'Oh my God!' Megan screamed, throwing herself at Sherlock. He patted her back.

'Yes, it's lovely isn't it. Anyway-'

'Who proposed?'

'I did.'

'Aw! Can we be bridesmaids?'

'What...what bride...Anyway, please detach yourself from me.'

'No, it's fine.'

'Megan!' Keri snapped.

Megan paused. 'Sorry.' She said finally, slipping away from him.

'...Thank-you Keri.' Sherlock said.

'Don't mention it.'

'Anyway,' John said, 'is there any way you could help?'

'We could try.' Keri said. Sherlock smiled and sat down next to John.

'Grab a chair.'

Keri and Megan did as they were told and set two chairs opposite Sherlock and John.

'So,' John said, 'let's think about what we need for a wedding.'

'Suits.' Keri said.

'Suit _plural_.' Continued Megan.

'Suits cost a lot.'

'An awful lot.'

'Would the price vary if one of them wore a wedding dress?'

'I believe that would increase the price.'

'Well damn.'

'It would cost a lot more.'

'It would.'

'And I've just noticed that "cost a lot" sounds like a knight form _Monty Python_.'

'That's an amazing discovery Keri.'

'Indeed it is, Megan. Onwards, Sir Cost-A-lot!'

'Hello?!' Sherlock piped up. Keri and Megan looked at him. 'Can we stick to the point?'

'We are- do you want us to help you or not?' Megan said.

John sighed. 'What else do we need?'

'A venue.' Keri said.

'Somewhere to actually get married.' Megan carried on.

'Rings.'

'Decoration.'

'Music.'

'A vicar, or a registrar.'

'A dance floor.'

'Cake.'

'Lots of cake.'

'Okay,' Sherlock said, 'we don't necessarily need a lot of those things.'

'...You need all of those things.' Keri assured.

'We don't really. For example, a dance floor-'

'Weddings are for the sole purpose of dancing.'

'And we don't need a cake-'

Both of the girls looked at him in horror.

'You can't be serious.' Megan said.

'Sorry?'

'Cake is unbelievably important.'

'What?'

'Very important.'

'But-'

'_Important_.'

'...Megan-'

'Shh.'

John chuckled. 'Okay, we'll work something out.'

'Thank-you,' Megan said. 'He's good; I like him.' She paused, and looked at them. 'You two are so adorable.'

Sherlock blinked at her. '...We're only sitting next to each other.'

'Your hand is on John's knee.'

Sherlock looked down at his hand. '...Oh yeah.'

'You did it unconsciously! That's even more adorable!' Megan squealed.

Keri sighed. 'This is going to be a long evening.'

* * *

><p>Sherlock doesn't really get nervous. It just doesn't happen to him.<p>

So when he felt a wave of anxiety creep over him as he was buttoning up his suit in the living-room, he thought he was having a seizure. Why the hell was he nervous? He was the one who proposed! He started pacing up and down the room, palms pressed together.

'Sherlock?'

Sherlock jumped out of his skin, turning round to see Keri. He sighed.

'You nearly killed me!'

'Oh. Well, never mind.'

Sherlock looked down at her deep blue knee-length dress. 'You look nice.' He sniffed.

'I know...Are you expecting a compliment in return?'

'Slightly.'

'Ah. You look...' She paused, '...respectable.'

'Thanks. Where are John and Megan?'

'With Arthur, getting him ready; turns out, he's not a fan of waistcoats. You can probably tell that I don't like children, so I ran away.'

'Right.'

They both stood in silence.

'...You okay?'

Sherlock blinked at her. 'Of course I am.'

'You look really pale.'

'I'm always pale.'

'Yeah, but you look more pale than usual. Maybe you should go to Turkey for your honeymoon; get a tan.'

'I'm fine.'

Keri raised an eyebrow. 'I say that a lot too.'

Sherlock looked at her and sighed. 'I'm nervous, Keri.'

'Oh.' She hesitated. 'I suck at pep-talks.'

'I guessed.'

She looked around the room in thought. 'Right. Well, you'll be fine...um...the wedding will go really well...Er...you and John are pretty good together...' She paused. '...Nope, that's all I got.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Thank-you for trying.'

'Hey, that took a lot out of me-you should be grateful.'

'I just said thank-you!'

'Doesn't mean a thing.'

Sherlock sighed and held out his arms. 'Can I have a hug-'

'Don't touch me.'

'Okay.' He paused, before awkwardly punching her arm, before stepping away quickly. Keri glared at her arm, and then at him.

'What the Hell was that.' She said flatly.

'I'm not sure.'

They looked at each other, slowly starting to smile.

'Sometimes, I wander why I'm friends with you, Keri Fenton.'

'Same. Feeling better?'

'A little.'

Megan dashed into the living-room, the hem of her light blue dress swishing round her ankles. 'Are you ready yet?'

Sherlock went silent. '...Ah...'

Megan tilted her head at him. 'Are you alright?'

'...I don't...'

'You're going kinda green.'

'I'm going to be sick!' He said quickly, bolting across the corridor into the bathroom.

Keri and Megan followed him cautiously, to see him being violently sick in the toilet.

Megan gagged and looked away. 'Oh, that's gross.'

'You're meant to be the caring one.' Keri said.

'I am. Just not when someone's spewing their guts up.'

'What, so you're expecting _me_ to be the nice one in this situation? I'll go and get John.'

'No! It's unlucky for the bride to be seen before the wedding!'

Silence.

'...What the Hell, Megan?!'

'What?'

'Where is the bride in this situation?'

'I'm just thinking.'

John poked his head around the door. 'Is everything okay?'

Megan and Keri looked at each other, shuffling out of the room.

'We'll probably go...' Megan said quietly, escaping out of the door with Keri following. John kneeled down next to Sherlock, rubbing his back.

'It's okay, love.' John soothed. 'I'm here.'

Sherlock raised his head when he was done, flushing the toilet.

'Nervous?' John asked.

Sherlock nodded, looking away. He was shaking. John sighed and stroked his hair. '...You...you do still want to get married, don't you?'

'Of course I do!'

'Alright, Sherlock. Calm down.'

'I can't! I'm getting married, and everything will go wrong, and something will most likely catch fire-'

John put a hand on his partners shoulder.

'Sherlock, what's happening today?'

'My wedding.'

'Who proposed?'

'I did.'

'Who are you getting married to?'

'You...' Sherlock paused, and then cracked a smile. '...I'm getting married to John Watson.'

John smiled back. 'And I'm getting married to Sherlock Holmes.'

Sherlocks smile turned into a grin. 'We're getting married!'

'I know!'

'This is scary. This is so, so scary. But...imagining spending my life with you is bloody fantastic.'

'You look incredible, by the way.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. 'Having my head in a toilet is a good look for me.'

'I meant your suit. Black and white always looks good on you, and I think this is the first time I've seen you in a tailcoat and tie.'

'You look good too. Not many people can pull off a cream suit.'

'Thanks.' John kissed his forehead. 'Ready?'

Sherlock took a deep breath. 'Oh fuck it, let's do it.'

John laughed and stood up. 'Good man.' Before he left, he turned back to Sherlock. 'Before you go, brush your teeth at least three times. The smell of vomit doesn't exactly make me want to kiss you.'

* * *

><p>Time taken to get all guests settled down in their seats- twelve minutes.<p>

Time taken for Keri to stop screaming at Arthur to sit down- nine minutes.

Time taken for Sherlock to stop shaking- Thirty-six minutes.

However, as soon as John was by his side, the doubt shifted and scooted away to the back of his mind.

The registrar smiled vaguely at the two, before raising her voice to address the guests. 'We are gathered here today, to witness the joining of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson.'

Keri failed to fight back a laugh. 'They've been joined together in other ways before, if you know what I mean.' She muttered, receiving a nudge from Megan. Sherlock and John coughed loudly, trying not to laugh.

'Before we start,' the registrar continued, 'I must ask if anyone has any reason why these two should not be joined in civil partnership, please now.'

John craned his neck, half-expecting Mary to jump out from behind one of the seats with a knife.

Luckily, silence had never sounded more brilliant.

'Right; if the ring-bearer could step forward please?'

Lestrade stepped forward, letting Sherlock and John take the rings from him. They faced each other.

'Sherlock, if you could repeat after me.

'I, Sherlock Holmes, hereby pledge to share my life openly with you, John Watson. From this moment onwards, I ask you to be by my side. To share our hopes, our dreams, our future together, go forward and be my companion along the way.'

There were a few quiet sniffs in the audience as Sherlock continued to repeat.

'I, Sherlock Holmes take you, John Watson, to be my civil partner under law. I make this promise freely, with honesty and sincerity and with commitment that shall strengthen as the years pass.'

Ms Hudson started dabbing her eyes with a tissue, much to the confusion of Arthur who was perched on her knee.

The registrar turned to John. 'Now, if John-'

Everyone stopped watching, turning their heads to where the whispers were coming from, behind the closed doors.

'I swear we're lost.'

'You told me to come here.'

'Oh, shush. You've got one magical ability and you suck at it.'

'You two.'

'What.'

'Behave. Let's find out where we are.'

The door swung open. There was silence, before an incredibly lanky man poked his head round the door. He tilted his hat at the guests. 'Hello.' He said brightly. 'Congratulations.' He stepped in the room, a girl in her twenties with dark hair and even darker clothes following. Behind her was a boy a little older than her, with hair looking like he'd stuck his fingers into an electric socket. They all stood awkwardly, before the tallest man in the hat took a seat. 'Carry on.'

The registrar blinked at them; 'uh...' she cleared her throat. 'John-I believe you wrote your own vows.'

'Oh yeah.' He said.

'You wrote your own vows?' Sherlock said. 'Now I feel terrible.'

The audience laughed, John smiling.

'I, John Watson, take Sherlock Holmes to be my second half. To be my soul-mate, my guide, my only love from here on. To be my companion, and to share every hope, dream and trouble with you. I love you, I give you all to show it; please accept it and give me your affection in return. I take you as my civil partner freely and under the law. I make you this commitment freely, accepting and adoring you as my partner, best friend and husband.'

Sherlock swallowed, and then swore quietly, rubbing his eye. The guests sniffed loudly. The young woman with dark hair leaned her head into the man in hat's shoulder.

'Sherlock Holmes, do you take John Watson to be your civil partner?'

'I do.'

'John Watson, do you take Sherlock Holmes to be your civil partner?'

'...Why not?'

The guests laughed, the two men slipping on each other's rings.

The registrar smiled. 'I now pronounce you civil partners, you may-'

'Get in there, my son!' Megan yelled from the front row. The guests burst out laughing, Sherlock and John spluttering. John grinned and stood on his tip-toes, pulling Sherlock closer and kissing him.

* * *

><p>Dancing had never been a strong point for Sherlock. John didn't mind, as they danced together to "<em>you're the reason I come home<em>," the stars watching down at them. Their friends gazed up at fireworks far away as they ate vast amounts of cake. Megan had got ridiculously drunk, gabbling about how Sherlock could have had her instead, before passing out on a disgusted Keri. Mycroft and one of his colleagues with a large forehead spent their evening staring longingly at the cake without ever daring to eat it. Ms Hudson held on to Arthur as he fell asleep in her arms, dreaming of reality.

* * *

><p>Warehouses are cold, gloomy places to meet people.<p>

Mary stood in front of the desk, her eyes tired. The figure sitting at the desk was hidden by shadow.

'It took me a long time to find you.' She said emptily. 'But I was told you were my best bet.' She paused. 'There's a man. Sherlock, he's called. He's ruined everything for me. He took away my husband and married him instead. I heard you can...help my situation.'

The figure leaned over the desk, hands clasped under his chin. 'Well, what are we waiting for then?' Moriarty said, grinning wildly.


	34. Facing Facts

**WARNING! STEAMY TIMES OCCUR QUITE A BIT!**

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><p>You can only pretend for so long. The longer you pretend, the more it seems like reality; but there will always be that spark of doubt following you. You will always have that sense of reality niggling at the back of your mind, reminding you of your act. To tell you to stop playing this part; that the show ended long ago. You can ignore it for months; you could lie to yourself for as long as it takes. But one day, that doubt will get louder, demanding that the real you needs to take centre stage now.<p>

Sherlock had seen John's real personality. He knew when he'd changed, when he became oh-so detached from his best friend. It was like he was keeping something from him, locking it away so it could be forgotten after some time. Occasionally, he would pass John's room to see him pacing up and down it, eyebrows knitted together. If he ever questioned him about it afterwards, he would deny the fact that he did it in the first place. There were other times as well, when Sherlock would notice John standing closer towards him than usual, sometimes looking up at Sherlock with a worried expression. If Sherlock ever looked back at him, he'd smile quickly and look at the floor.

Sherlock looked up at John from his tea. '...Are you alright?'

John did a double-take. 'I'm sorry?' Sherlock repeated himself. 'Of course I'm alright.'

'But you're not though, are you?'

'What?' John frowned. 'I'm fine!'

The detective paused. 'Okay.' They sat in silence for a long time, before the detective said a quiet, 'liar.'

'For God's sake!' John sighed, folding his newspaper away. 'I'm _fine!_'

'There's no point pretending that you are; I know you're not.'

'Look, this is me- I am fine.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'It's like you've forgotten why you're upset. That's odd.'

'What are you talking about?'

'You know exactly what I'm talking about.'

John sighed inwardly and stood up, starting to leave the room. He stopped when something gripped his arm. He turned to see Sherlock stood up behind him. 'John.'

'What?'

'You know what.'

John swallowed and looked away. 'Let go of my arm.'

'Not until you tell me why you've changed so much in the past few months.'

'I haven't _changed_.'

'I beg to differ.'

'Get off me.' John hissed, pulling his arm free.

'...Okay, let's try it this way-what did I do?'

'Nothing.'

'I must have done something wrong.'

'More like what you haven't done.' John muttered.

Sherlock frowned. '...I'm sorry?'

John turned round towards him. _'You never noticed did you!?_' He shouted. _'We've lived together for ages now, and you never even fucking noticed!'_

Sherlock blinked. '...Noticed what? John, tell me what I've done wrong!'

_'Even now, you don't-_' He closed his eyes and sighed, opening them slowly. '...You observe so much, but you don't see anything. Even now, you're trying to deduce the answer, but you won't find it. You just don't get it. You don't understand.'

'Stop scaring me.'

John looked at the ceiling. 'You were right. It is like I've forgotten what's wrong. I've kept it hidden away for to stop myself getting hurt. It didn't work.'

'Please, just tell me what's wrong!' John went silent. Sherlock started to panic, gripping the doctors' shoulders. 'Please!'

John looked up at him, shaking his head. 'You just don't get it. Even when it's right in front of you...every hint I dropped, every compliment I gave, all the nights I stayed up with you for a case, or when you over-dosed...' He swallowed. 'Notice me, Sherlock.'

Sherlocks mouth opened slightly, suddenly stepping away from the other man. He shook his head, curls bobbing from side to side. 'You...you can't...'

'Can't what? Fancy you to pieces? Fantasize about you every night? Wait for you for the rest of my life? Guess what-too late.'

'...How long?'

John looked at the ground. 'I can't even remember.'

'I was under the impression that you were straight.'

'And you changed that.' John looked at him, head tilted. 'You're so beautiful, Sherlock. Your mind, your looks, your voice...how could I resist?'

Sherlock sighed and brushed a hand over his mouth. 'What about all your ex-girlfriends-?'

'They all broke up with me for the same reason; I couldn't stop talking about you.'

Sherlock hesitated. 'You said you couldn't resist me.'

'Yeah.'

'I don't really understand what you mean.'

John stepped closer towards him. 'Do want me to show you what I mean?'

Sherlock nodded hesitantly.

Johns shoulders sagged, running his finger on the skin around Sherlocks eyes.

Eyes.

His hands travelled up. He stood on his tip-toes and ran his fingers through the detectives mane.

Hair.

Sherlock sighed lightly, watching John as his thumb went to the side of the taller man's face, caressing it slowly.

Cheekbones.

The other hand rested on Sherlocks black velvet jacket, two fingers running up and down the lapel.

Style.

Sherlock swallowed visibly as John picked up one of his hands, raising it to his mouth. Sherlocks eyes became half-lidded as the doctor kissed each finger. 'John...' He breathed, as the shorter mans tongue started circling over each digit.

Hands.

John dropped Sherlocks hand and kissed his Adam's apple, teeth grazing over it.

Voice.

The doctors' hand went to the detectives lips, running his thumb over them.

Cupids bow.

John stooped down so he was facing Sherlocks shoes. He started to trail kisses-starting at his shoes, going up his leg, over his belt, across his shirt, up his neck; he held Sherlocks head down to kiss the top of his head.

Height.

He held the geniuses head with two hands. He pressed their foreheads together, closing his eyes.

Mind.

Sherlocks brain fluttered back into reality. He stepped away, 'we can't do this,' he said firmly. '_I_ can't do this.'

'Can I ask why?'

'Because I can't understand relationships. I just can't.'

John looked away. 'Right. You don't feel the same.'

'No, that's-' Sherlock sighed inwardly. '...That's not what I'm saying.'

'What, so one minute you're squirming in front of me because I'm kissing your hand, and now you're debating whether you really like me or not.'

'You're not helping the situation.'

John looked up at him, folding his arms. 'There's no situation here; this is you being...' He sighed. 'This is you being you.'

Sherlock dug his hands in his pockets. 'You're being unfair.'

'In what way?' John asked.

'I told you- I don't understand relationships, and you're not helping.'

'-By being the first person to try and make you understand.'

Sherlock didn't reply. John closed the distance between them again. 'Sherlock.' Sherlock didn't look at him. 'I want you to do something for me.' John said, tilting his head so he was in Sherlocks line of sight. 'You don't understand relationships, so let's make things your way of thinking. Deduce me.'

Sherlock focused on him properly, frowning. 'Sorry?'

'You heard. Deduce me.'

Sherlock opened his mouth and then closed it again, looking at John up and down. After a few seconds, he gripped his colleague's wrist. He dropped it. 'Oh.'

'Now look in the mirror.' John said, gesturing towards the mirror in front of the fireplace. Sherlock looked at his reflection, frowning slightly at his dilated pupils. He froze when he felt John wrap his arms around his waist, head leaning against the back of his neck. 'You've got to stop pretending, Sherlock.' John murmured, kissing his neck. The detective sighed lightly, tilting his head to the side. John smiled. 'Is that sign language for "kiss my neck again"?'

'Mm.'

John complied, standing on his tip-toes to run his tongue across his neck. He paused, before biting down gently.

Sherlocks brain short-circuited, letting out a low moan. 'Do that again...'

John did as he was told, making Sherlock shudder.

'...Harder.' The detective growled. 'Bite me harder.'

John shivered with anticipation, biting hard into Sherlocks neck. The taller man moaned louder, swearing breathlessly. John continued, whilst one hand ran down Sherlocks arm, finger-nails digging through his clothes. Sherlock lulled his head back, hands unconsciously going for the buttons of his jacket. John pulled it off the detectives back as soon as it was unbuttoned, letting it fall.

'Give in.' John purred.

'M-hm.'

'Give in to your desires.'

'...But it's-'

'Do I have to make you?' John asked, spinning Sherlock around so he was facing him.

'In what way?'

'By doing this...' John kissed the hollow of his neck. 'And this...' He picked up one of Sherlocks hands, tongue running over his veins, 'and _this_.' He kissed him properly.

Sherlock sighed, parting from him. 'You're really testing my self-control.'

John smirked. 'Meaning?'

'That I'm going to destroy something if you don't have me right now.'

The doctor laughed. 'Are you begging?'

'Which is the right answer?'

'Yes.'

'Yes then.'

John chuckled and then gasped when Sherlocks hand fingers traced above his waistband, kissing his jaw.

'I...I thought you've never done this before?'

'I haven't. I'm acting on instinct; why? Am I doing well?'

'Oh, yes.' He breathed. '_Very_ well.'

'You're wearing far too many clothes.' Sherlock said, tugging at Johns jumper. The doctor disguarded it quickly, kissing Sherlock. His fingers started unbuttoning the detectives shirt. John parted and looked up at him as he pulled it off his shoulders.

'...So perfect.' The doctor muttered, trailing kisses across the taller mans chest.

Sherlock groaned. 'John, you're _killing _me.'

John looked up at him. 'This won't last long.'

Sherlock frowned. 'What?'

'I know that tomorrow we'll go back to being just friends, because that's just how you are. You'll say that what we did was a mistake, unprofessional, distracting from your work. It's okay. I get it.'

'I won't say that-'

'You will, Sherlock. I know you will; because I know you.' He rested his head against Sherlocks chest. 'I understand what will happen.'

Sherlock paused. '...I...'

John kissed him quickly. 'Let's not think about tomorrow. Let's be lovers, only if for a night.'


	35. Come home

**Sorry it's a bit short! **

**OH and I have a new story! Yus, it's called 'impossible', and it's a wholock (Sherlock and Doctor Who crossover) story thingy. I'm also going away for a week to Spain (I'm going to burn so much, I'm so pale!) so I might not be avle to update any of my stories until I get back. Sorry! I will write whilst I'm there though!**

* * *

><p>Sherlock had a habit of going out at ridiculous times without any indication as to where he was going or what time he was going to be back. John pretended that he didn't mind at all, that he would be fine with it.<p>

As long as he had his phone with him.

John knew Sherlock was out, but he didn't know where. He guessed he would be back in an hour. He knew he'd be safe...right?

He busied himself to stop him being aware of the time too much.

One hour.

John looked at his watch. Huh. He quickly shrugged it off. Maybe Sherlock was on a case without him?

Two hours.

John's slight worry started to kick in. He kept it hidden; _God's sake, he's your flat-mate! Stop worrying about him every time he's out!_ He checked his phone every so often. After a few minutes past the hour he sent Sherlock a text; _you okay? Wondering when you're coming back. _

Three Hours.

Ms Hudson reassured John that Sherlock will return home at home at some point, before pootling off to her room, turning in for the night. John's stomach had started to tie knots. He sent another text; _where are you?_

He tried to relax, each time ending in him pacing up and down whichever room he was in. He stared down at his hands, since when was I biting my nails? I never do that! Sherlock still hadn't text back. Johns worry had turned into almost full-on panic. The last time Sherlock was gone this long without a word from him was...John's heart lurched into his mouth...the day of the fall. Another text; _Sherlock, where are you?!_

Four hours

'Lestrade, is Sherlock in the yard with you?'

'Not that I know of. He left a couple of hours ago. I thought he was home with you?'

'That's the thing-he's not here.'

'Oh. Well, he'll come back.'

'I know, but...' John sighed over the phone. 'I don't know where he is, do I?'

'Relax; he might have gone home with someone.'

'...This is Sherlock we're talking about.'

'Good point. He'll be back at some point-he always is.'

'Not always.'

Long pause at the other end of the line. '...John, don't worry. He wouldn't do that again.'

'You don't know that.'

'Have you tried contacting him?'

'He didn't reply.'

Lestrade sighed. 'Listen, I'm working nights today. I'll keep an eye out for him, yeah?'

'Thanks.'

'It's late, try and get some sleep now.'

'Okay, cheers mate.'

'Bye.' The line went dead. John stared down at the blue scarf he had knotted around his fingers.

'Please come home.'

'John! You would not believe the case I just solved!' Sherlock frowned when he didn't see John in the living-room. He checked the kitchen. 'John?' He walked across the corridor, checking that the bathroom door was open. 'Are you asleep?' He stuck his head into the doctor's room, blinking when he saw it was empty. 'Have you gone out in a huff-?' He stopped when he reached his own room, hearing heavy breathing behind the door. Sherlock opened it slowly, to see John fast asleep on his bed, the detectives scarf in his grip. Sherlock opened his mouth slightly, leaning against the wall with his head tilted. After a few seconds, he cautiously walked towards John, trying to prise the scarf off him. John grumbled in his sleep, pulling it closer towards his chest. Sherlock sighed and straightened up before moving away from him. He paused, turning to the door and shrugging his coat off, hanging it up. He crept to his wardrobe and slipped off his jacket, placing it on one of the coat-hangers. He quickly kicked off his shoes and unbuckled his belt, hanging it on the chair. Sherlock swallowed, approaching John again and slipped into bed beside him. The detective gently tugged the scarf off of him, replacing it with his own arm. John sighed in his sleep.

'Sher...' He mumbled. He stirred and opened his eyes, frowning slightly. He yelped and sat up when he saw someone next to him.

'Sh, John. It's okay. It's me.' Sherlock soothed.

John blinked at him in the dark. 'Sherlock...'

'I'm here.'

Johns breathing started shaking. 'You didn't answer your phone, you were gone for hours...' his voice cracked. 'Where _were _you!?' He said, lying back down again. Sherlock wrapped his arms around him.

'I was on a case. I'm so sorry, John-I should've told you somehow.'

'Your phone, maybe?'

'I may have dropped it into a pool of blood.'

John laughed and buried his face into the crook of Sherlocks necks, making the taller man freeze.

'...What...' He sighed and relaxed, awkwardly patting Johns back.

'I know it's stupid but I...' John pursed his lips and parted from the other man, looking at him properly. 'I thought...you were going to disappear again.'

Sherlocks shoulders sagged. 'I'll never do that again.'

'I know, I know. I still...you can't help your imagination, right?'

'Mm.' Sherlock bit his lip, running his thumb over John's cheekbone. 'I'm not going anywhere anytime soon.'

Silence. '...Sherlock?'

'Yes, John?'

John paused. 'Can I do something?'

'Depends what it is.'

The doctor pressed his hand against Sherlocks chest, over his heart. He smiled at the darker haired man. 'I never want to stop hearing that.'

'You won't.'

'You always seem to stick to your promises. Well, sort of. You're unreliable, but at your own accord. You'll only stick to something if you want to. I guess that's a way of telling if you actually care about certain people. You speak your mind, but I'm rarely on the receiving end of your sharp tongue. That's why I love you.'

Sherlock went completely still, his heart skipping a beat. 'What did you just say?'

'You heard me perfectly.'

'...John, I-'

'It's late,' John said quickly. 'We'll talk in the morning.'


	36. A Holiday of Sorts part 1

**I'm back, tomatoes!**

* * *

><p>'You know, it would be really helpful if you would carry some of this luggage as well?'<p>

'You're doing fine without my help.'

'And I could do even better if-_holy Jesus!'_ The heat hit them hard as soon as they exited the airport. John, laden down with both his and Sherlocks luggage, resorted to panting like a dog. Sherlock glided out of the building with his coat still wrapped around him. John handed him a suitcase. 'I knew Spain was going to be hot, but I didn't think it was going to be this hot-' he looked at Sherlock. 'Oh.'

'What?'

'Take your coat off.'

'Why?'

'Just do it.'

'I have no reason to.'

John stared at him. 'What? It's boiling!'

'Is it?'

'Just take your coat off; you're making me feel hot!' John barked. Sherlock went silent. After a moment, he unbuttoned his coat and shrugged it off, hanging it over one arm. John nodded, 'thank you.'

'Mm.'

They wheeled their suitcases towards a row of taxis. 'When was the last time you went on holiday, Sherlock?'

'Does Dartmoor count?'

'No. That was for a case, just like every other time we've ever gone out of London together. This is the first holiday I've had in ages-no cases, no dead people, no running after phsycos.' They both slotted into a taxi, Sherlock giving the driver the address to the hotel. 'I've gotta say; I'm proud of you.'

'You're too kind.' Sherlock said, taking out his phone.

'Who are you texting?'

'Lestrade.'

'Why?' Sherlock didn't say anything. John sighed. 'Oh, for God's sake!'

'It's just one case.'

'That's why you said we needed a holiday!'

'Look, it's a really pressing one-'

'I should've known; like you would voluntarily go to Spain on ordinary circumstances.'

'These are ordinary circumstances, for me anyway.'

John sighed again and looked out of the window. '...Come on then. Tell me what it is.'

Sherlocks face lit up. 'Triple murder in Anda-Lucia.'

'Where we're staying.'

'Yeah. Anyway-no eye witness accounts, no solid leads.'

'Can't the Spanish police deal with this?'

'They could, but I'm bored.'

'...You're come all the way to Spain to stop being bored.'

'Correct. Problem?'

'Not at all-as long as you're paying for the flight.'

'I used your credit card for the online booking.'

'Wonderful. And the hotel?'

'I haven't booked it yet. I'll do it when we get there.'

'You're paying.'

'Naturally.'

John watched the vineyards race past them out of the window. 'Can you speak Spanish?'

'Yes. Can you?'

'No. You can be chief translator for the week.' The doctor suddenly frowned and looked at him. 'Since when did you speak Spanish?'

'Since I learnt how to. There are lots of things you don't know about me.'

They looked at each other. '...Like what?'

'Like I would tell you.'

John smirked. 'You're a strange guy.'

'As are you.'

Air conditioning is seriously under-rated, John thought as he stepped into the hotel. 'Do you want to check in?' He said fleetingly, sitting at one of the coffee tables. Sherlock made his way to the front desk and a young stern-looking woman turned to him. She speaking in fast-paced Spanish.

'You booked a room?'

Sherlock replied in the same language. 'I was hoping to book it tonight.'

The clerk sighed. 'Fine. How many of you?'

'Two.'

She looked over Sherlocks shoulder, saw John, and wrinkled her nose. 'I see. I'm guessing you want one night then.'

'A week, actually.'

The clerk looked surprised. 'Ah, very well then.' She muttered something along the lines of "established relationship" before scribbling down the information. 'Two singles or one double?'

Sherlock hesitated. 'What's the price difference?'

'Double's cheaper by fifteen per cent.'

'...Double.'

'Thought so.' She muttered, jotting down more notes. 'Name?'

'Holmes.'

'Right. You're booked into room 221-' Sherlock smirked. '...Is something amusing, sir?'

'No, not at all.'

'Good.' she handed him a key card. 'You're on the second level right at the end of the corridor.'

Sherlock smiled quickly and made his way to the lift. 'Come on John.'

John followed him quickly, lugging the suitcases behind him. He entered the lift. 'Sorted?'

'Yes. Second floor.' Sherlock pressed the button marked "2" and the doors closed.

'Looks like an expensive place.' John remarked. 'Glad I'm not paying.'

'Mm. I've had to economize slightly.'

'In what way?'

'It doesn't matter.' The elevator beeped as the doors opened. Sherlock and John made their way to the end of the corridor, stopping at the designated room. John looked up at the door number.

'Oh, very funny.'

'Complete coincidence.' Sherlock replied, opening the door. John frowned slightly.

'Am I in the room next door?'

'No.'

'Are we sharing a room?'

'Yes. And,' Sherlock coughed, 'other things as well.'

Johns mouth fell open. 'Please tell me you're joking.'

'I told you, I had to economize.'

'You can't be serious. I am not sharing a bed with you!'

'We don't have time to argue about this.' Sherlock hissed. 'I don't have the money for two rooms, and this hotel doesn't do single rooms, just deal with it.'

John looked a little taken aback. '...Fine.' He muttered, shuffling into the room.

Sherlock smiled and closed the door behind them. 'Good man.'

John dumped the luggage onto the floor. 'At least the room's nice.'

'Indeed.' Sherlock placed his coat on the chair and shrugged his jacket off. He flopped onto the bed and John looked at him.

'Are you sleeping now?'

'No. Just thinking.'

'Right.' The doctor hesitated, flapping one of his hands at Sherlock. 'Move up.' The detective shuffled over slightly. John rested next to him. They both fell into an awkward silence. '...So.' John said quietly. Sherlock didn't reply. 'You okay?'

'Thinking.'

'Is that a yes?'

'Thinking.'

'Right.' John went quiet again. After a moment, he smiled to himself and poked the side of Sherlocks face. Sherlock frowned at him from the corner of his eye.

'What was that for?'

'Just checking that you're still alive.'

Sherlock let a small smile creep across his lips. 'Of course I am.' John fought back a yawn. 'Tired?'

'Yeah. It's been a long day. What about you?'

'I'm fine for a while.'

'You've got good stamina.'

'You have no idea.'

John looked at him and swallowed. 'I'll...go and get ready for bed, to sleep, that is.' He said quickly.


	37. A Holiday of Sorts part 2

**Small amount of slashy-goodness in this chapter! **

**AND. SKULDUGGERY FANS OUT THERE-I'm going to the Bluewater signing that Derek Landy's doing on the 9th! Keep your eyes peeled for a short 15 year old girl with brown curly hair, most likely wearing a black trilby and a Sherlock t-shirt and dark jeans (the t-shirt will probably be a dark blue one with Sherlock playing with a rubix cube). If you see me there, please bound up to me! I have no idea what time I'll be going (probably as soon as it starts, which is at 12:00). **

**Oh, and peoples, I have a tumblr if you didn't know- tomatoesonstrings-dot-tumblr-dot-com **

**Have fun with that!**

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><p>Sherlock woke when John kicked him in the head in his sleep. He narrowed his eyes at his colleagues feet and shuffled away from them slightly. Maybe sharing a bed wasn't such a good idea after all. John sighed heavily in his sleep, turning over so once again his feet were right in front of Sherlocks nose. The taller man rolled his eyes at them, nudging them gently. John mumbled something incoherent, stirring. When his feet didn't move, Sherlock pushed Johns legs completely. He didn't quite know his own strength, as John slid of the bed altogether with a "Waa!". Sherlock sat up and looked at him. 'Good morning.'<p>

John glanced up at him. '...Did you just push me onto the floor?'

'Of course I didn't. You had a bad dream and fell.'

'Really?'

'Yup.'

John shrugged and stood up. 'What are we doing today?'

'I've got a vague lead; I'll need to contact the Spanish police-'

'I meant about our holiday.'

'I thought we established that this wasn't a holiday.'

'It is for me.'

'Right. Off you go holidaying then.'

'You're included in this.'

'Why?'

'Because I want you to be.'

Sherlock smiled slightly. 'Fine. I'll humour you for this week.'

'Cheers. Swimming?'

The detective raised an eyebrow. 'Pardon?'

'I'll take that as a yes.' John replied, hunkering down over his suitcase. 'There's a pool on the terrace of this hotel.'

'...But I didn't pack any tru-' He was cut off when a pair of black swimming trunks hit his face.

'I know. I packed them for you.'

* * *

><p>For the first time in a long while, John felt self-conscious. Of course he'd been swimming since he'd been shot, but not with Sherlock. And Sherlock's so...<em>Sherlock<em>. Like he'd care anyway. He doesn't think like that. _But still!_ Like that stopped John from being nervous. He sent Sherlock ahead whilst he paced up and down their room, gnawing at his finger-nails. _Chicken_, he said to himself, stepping out of the room.

Despite them being in Spain, there was a hell of a lot of English-speaking people. A lot of which were Americans; size-of-a-house mothers taking their fifteen thousand children swimming, even though half of them couldn't swim anyway. Sherlock had evacuated himself from the chaos, dangling his feet in the deep end of the pool. John's mouth fell open when he saw him in nothing but swimming trunks. When Sherlock looked up at him, he quickly closed it again and made his way over to sit down next to him.

'You took your time.' Sherlock said.

John shrugged as he sat down. He looked away, making a big deal of scratching his shoulder so his hand could cover up his scar.

Sherlock frowned at him. 'You okay?'

'Yup.' John removed his hand quickly and looked straight ahead. He looked at Sherlock from the corner of his eye to see his eyes flicker to his scar for a millisecond before turning to look in the same direction as John. John winced and blushed. '...Oh.'

Sherlock looked back at him. 'What?'

'Nothing.' John replied, slipping into the pool with Sherlock following.

It was at this point when they both realised that the pool was two metres deep. Sherlock managed to stand in the water, whilst Johns head disappeared completely. He clung onto the side, reappearing. Sherlock smirked at him.

'Short-arse.'

'Hey!' John splashed him with his free hand. 'Just because I'm not weird-tall like _some_ people.'

'I'm not weird-tall, I'm normal-tall.'

'This conversation is stupid. Shall we swim?'

Sherlock raised his eyebrow at the throng of people. 'Good luck with that.'

'Good point. Shall we just...ah...float?'

'Okay?'

Sherlock joined him in propping himself against the side of the pool. They watched in comfortable silence at the angry, frustrated parents, the screaming children, bored-looking teenagers. After a while, John tapped Sherlock on the shoulder and nodded towards two young women not far off from them. 'The one with curly hair fancies you.'

Sherlock blinked at him and then at the girls. 'Does she?' The girl with curly hair giggled and waved at him. 'Oh.' Sherlock said quietly. 'I don't want this.'

John laughed. 'She's not _that_ bad!'

'I'm not interested. How do I sign-language "I'm not interested"?'

John rolled his eyes. 'Shake your head at her.' Sherlock shook his head at the two women. They blinked and frowned at him.

'I don't think they get it.'

'Mm.' John paused. 'Shake your head again and point at me.'

'Why?'

'It should work.'

Sherlock hesitantly did as he was told. The girls raised their eyebrows and looked at each other.

'Did that work?' Sherlock asked.

'I don't think so.'

'What do I do now?'

John thought for a moment. 'Do something gay.'

Sherlocks eyes widened at him. 'Sorry?'

'Trust me, it works every time.'

Sherlock went still, before slowly floating towards John. He slowly snaked an arm around him, smiling from the corner of his mouth. John mouth went dry as he looked up at him slowly. 'I...didn't mean at me...' Sherlock dipped his head and nibbled at John's ear.

_Stay calm, stay calm, think of something disgusting, don't look at Sherlock, don't look at Sherlock._

Sherlocks arm slipped off Johns shoulder.

_Phew._

And rested on the doctor's chest, running his fingers up and down it in lazy circles.

_Oh, shit._

'You can stop now, Sherlock.' John managed to say. 'They've stopped looking at you now.'

Sherlock looked at the two women. 'Excellent.' He moved away from John.

_You didn't have to stop if you didn't want to._

'They looked disappointed.' John said.

'Good for them.' Sherlock hoisted himself out of the pool. John blinked up at him.

'Oh, you done?'

'You tell me.'

John went beet-red. 'Ha.'

Sherlock smirked and sat at the side, dangling his feet in the pool again. 'Swimming can be quite enjoyable, can't it John?'

John narrowed his eyes. 'Shut up.'

'I shall not.' John started to smile, as he grabbed Sherlocks ankles. 'What are you-' John pulled hard, sending Sherlock back into the water. The detective yelped as the sheet of blue enveloped him entirely. John heard a muffled "bastard!" as the detectives head disappeared into the water.


	38. A Holiday of Sorts part 3

**psssssst...hey, hey guys. Look up there. above this story...biiiiig number. psssst, hey, hey guys. It says 100 reviews. This makes me weep with joy. Thankyou for all your lovely words of nice. =3**

**WARNING! STEAMY SCENE!**

**This is the final chapter of 'Holiday Of Sorts', enjoy!**

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><p>'Do all Spanish menus consist of only fish?'<p>

'What's wrong with fish?'

'Nothing, I'm just not particularly fond of it.'

'You like cod.'

'That's different. Cod has batter and things on it. All the fish here is...naked.'

John sighed. 'Order something else then?'

Sherlock inspected the menu. 'There isn't much else.'

'There's steak.'

'-With a weird sauce on it.'

'It's better than nothing. For once in your life you're actually eating whilst on a case; I'm not letting this one exception slip away because you're a fussy eater.' John said, snapping the menu shut. 'You know, you really could've dried yourself properly.'

Sherlock looked down at the half-damp shirt he was wearing. 'Dull.'

'And also uncomfortable. Don't blame me if you catch a cold.'

'Wouldn't dream of it.'

A waiter who looked a little like a bell strolled up to them. John ordered for both of them and the waiter left again.

'You ordered steak for me.' Sherlock said.

'I know.'

'I didn't necessarily want steak.'

'Well, ha ha. You didn't specify.'

Sherlock grunted and sat back in his seat, drumming his fingers on the table tunelessly. They sat in comfortable silence before the detective brought out his phone. John rolled his eyes. 'Not again.'

'What?'

'You've barely been off your phone all the time we've been in Spain.'

'I have a case; I need to communicate with people.'

'You could not work on it whilst we're eating.'

'We're not eating yet.'

'You know what I mean.' John muttered. He went silent, before smiling to himself. '...This looks like we're on a date again.'

Sherlock glanced up at him for a second and then looked back at his phone. 'Sorry?'

'I was just saying that-' He paused. 'Never mind.'

'No. Do tell.'

'It's just that, I don't know, it looks like we're on a date.'

Sherlock raised his eyebrows for a millisecond. 'Really?'

'Slightly. People will talk.'

Sherlock shrugged. 'They never stop.' John chuckled and looked at his shoes. Sherlock hesitated. '...This _isn't_ a date, is it?'

'No, no, no. Of course not.' John said quickly. Sherlock nodded.

'Good.'

_Ouch_. John winced slightly. '...But if it-'

The waiter arrived with their meals, placing them in front of them. They both said a quiet "graḉias" as the waiter walked away. They started eating in silence. After a while, Sherlock spoke up. 'Sorry, what were you saying?' He asked, not looking up from his plate.

John shook his head. 'It's not interesting enough for you.'

Sherlock looked up at him. 'How rude.'

John laughed. 'Ha, I was just saying that if...' he swallowed. 'If this was a date-'

'But it's not.'

'I know. But if it was, would you...be okay with it?'

Sherlock calved up more of the steak he was eating. 'I don't know. I don't like speculating things.'

'Right, sorry.' John turned his attention back to his food. Sherlock tilted his head at him.

'Why?'

'Ignore me. Just ignore me.'

'You can't ignore someone who's right in front of you.'

John smiled down at the table. 'You seem to manage fine normally.'

Sherlock blinked at him. 'Do I ignore you?'

'Sometimes.'

'Oh.' Sherlock swallowed down a mushroom.

'Don't worry about it- I'm not offended.'

'I wasn't worried.'

'Right. Okay then.' Sherlocks phone started ringing for the fifth time that evening. He answered it as John sighed loudly. 'God's sake...'

'Hello?' Sherlock said, talking into the phone. He nodded a few times before mouthing "Lestrade" at John. The detective started rattling on about the case to Lestrade before his phone started ringing again. He muttered something about another incoming call and then answered it. He started speaking Spanish to the person at the end of the line, so John can only assume that it was the Spanish police he was talking to. It took another tedious ten minutes before Sherlock put his phone down again. '...Sorry, what were we talking about?'

'The fact that you ignore me.'

'Ah, yes.'

After they had finished eating and paying, Sherlock and John started walking back towards their room. They had nearly reached the elevator, before Sherlock glanced out at the now closed off terrace. He looked back at John. 'Swimming pool's empty.'

John's finger stopped in mid-air, about to call the lift. 'Sorry?' Sherlock repeated himself. 'Of course its empty-it's locked, the blinds are down over the windows, it's late.'

Sherlock smiled. 'Fancy a swim?'

John frowned at him. 'I just said that everything's locked. The staff have all gone as well.'

'Indeed they have.' Sherlock replied simply, walking towards the terrace door and stooping down in front of it. With a shift and a click, the door swung open. John raised his eyebrows as Sherlock stood back up.

'You know how to break locks.'

'Mm.'

John rolled his eyes and followed Sherlock onto the terrace. 'This is ridiculous. We're going to get caught.'

'We'll be fine, come on.' Sherlock kicked off his shoes and socks along with his coat and scarf. He rolled up his trouser legs a little and sat down with his feet dipped into the water. He winced slightly.

John tilted his head at him. 'What's wrong? Is it cold?'

'No, it's fine.'

John sat down, discarded his shoes and socks and rolled up his jeans. He swung his legs over and dangled his feet in the pool. He gasped. 'Oh my God, that's cold!'

Sherlock laughed. 'It could be worse.'

'Liar. It's freezing.'

'Only slightly.'

They both sat in silence, their legs slowly adapting to the cold water.

And then Sherlocks phone rang again. John groaned in frustration as the detective answered it. Once again, he mouthed "Lestrade" before continuing to talk.

That's when John Watson went a bit berserk.

He grabbed the phone off of the detective and stood up, darting towards the edge of the fencing. Sherlocks eyes widened as he ran after him. 'Don't you dare!'

John dared. He tossed the phone in the air and caught it smartly, before throwing it over the fencing, into the open air. And then it just kept going. And going. And going.

Sherlocks mind flashed for a millisecond to wish his phone a new and happy life in California before saying a quiet, 'you threw my phone.'

'I did.'

'You threw. My phone. Over a fence. On a hotels fifth floor.'

'Yup.'

Sherlock paused and then gave a small psychotic laugh. 'I don't think you understand what you've just done.'

'Oh come on. It's not like you haven't got another phone at home.'

Sherlock closed his eyes and then opened them again slowly. 'You ignorant bastard. I need that phone.'

John raised an eyebrow and stepped past him, sitting crossed-legged near the pool. 'Run after it then.'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and sighed in defeat. 'I hate you,' he said, sitting down next to him, his legs also crossed.

'No you don't.'

'You don't know that.'

'I can guess though.'

Sherlock let the smile creep back across his face. 'Indeed.' He looked at the ground, pursed his lips and then said, 'the thing we were talking about in the restaurant.'

'...What? What thing?'

'The thing about the whole date scenario.'

John looked away. 'Forget it.'

'No, I shall not.'

'It was just a stupid comment which didn't mean anything.'

'It did, though.' Sherlock said. 'I'm just saying that,' he swallowed, 'I wouldn't have minded if it was a date.'

John looked at him. 'Are you trying to seduce me, Mister Holmes?'

Sherlock smirked. 'I don't know. You can decide on that one.' He looked at him up and down through long lashes. 'How long?'

'How long what?'

'How long have you been...fond of me in that sense?'

John's mouth opened slightly. 'How did you know?'

'I notice things, it's my job. Answer the question.'

The doctor breathed out heavily. 'I don't know. A long while, I think. I suppose I started noticing you properly ever since our first case together. After that, things have just progressed in my brain.'

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. 'Ah. That's...quite a while.'

'Yeah.'

'Why didn't you tell me before?'

'Why do you think? You're Sherlock Holmes. You don't do anything.'

'Since when?'

John blinked. 'Since I met you. You said that you don't do relationships.'

'Right.' Sherlock went silent. '...Am I allowed to make an exception?'

John bit his lip and leaned forward. Sherlock went completely still as John stopped inches away from his face. 'Do you trust me, Sherlock?' He murmured.

Sherlock eyes half-closed as he said a quiet, 'what do you think?' before closing the gap between them. Sherlock hadn't kissed anyone before, and he had a feeling John knew. Maybe that was why the doctor was going soft and steady with him; they barely touched apart from the outline of their lips. They parted after a few seconds, foreheads pressed together.

'You okay?' John asked finally. Sherlock looked at him and nodded. 'You sure? It wasn't weird was it?' John pressed.

'Why would it be?'

'I don't know-kissing another man for a start, kissing your best and only friend for another. I mean, that's gotta be a bit weird, isn't it? It's not for me, but-' he was cut off when Sherlock put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer and kissing him again. Okay, Sherlock _was _inexperienced; but like John cared. The doctor hesitantly wrapped an arm around his waist to pull him even closer. The dark-haired man responded by slowly running a hand through the other mans hair. He felt himself smiling with immense pride as John let out an "mmm" of satisfaction. The shorter man parted for air for a second before locking lips again with added force, raking a hand through Sherlocks curls. Sherlock sighed and gripped onto John's shirt. 'You alright?' John managed to say.

Sherlock breathed deeply. 'Yes.' He muttered, and grabbed Johns face again, drunk with desire. John breathed deeply and placed a hand on Sherlocks chest, pushing him down gently, slowly, slightly, so that the small of Sherlocks back touched the ground. The doctor dared himself and slipped his tongue out and ran it across Sherlocks teeth, requesting access. Sherlock complied with a moan, opening his mouth slightly. After a while, John parted and panted.

'_Fuck_, you're good.' The doctor whispered, making Sherlock chuckle breathlessly.

'Thanks.'

They both breathed deeply in silence, looking at each other. After what seemed like an eternity, Sherlock inclined his head and kissed him once again, both hands on either side of Johns face. The detective began rolling over so he could be on top of him, take control.

'No, Sherlock!' John said frantically, arms flailing.

The rest may not be clear to you yet. You may be slightly confused as to why both men suddenly yelled in surprise afterwards. Let's just say-Sherlock forgot that they were next to a pool.


	39. Birthday

**Just a little drabble with Arthur because...**

**Happpppppyy birthday toooooo youuuuuuuu**

**Happppppppyy birthday tooooo youuuuuuuu**

**Happpppppppyy bithday dearrrrr Rhiiiiaaaannnnooonnnn (aka meeeeeeeee)**

**Happpppppy birthday toooooo youuuuuu!**

***Fireworks***

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><p>Arthur clapped his hands with joy as he gazed at the neat row of four un-lighted candles at the top of a wobbly-iced cake. His father, "daddy-Sherlock" held onto him and guided the birthday boy towards it. Arthurs other father, "daddy" lit each candle, humming to himself.<p>

'What day is it today, Arth?' Sherlock said.

'28th Sep...September!' Arthur cried.

'And why is today special?'

'My birthday!'

'That's right-how old are you today?'

Arthur held up four fingers on his left hand. John gasped in pretend surprise. 'Four! What a big number!'

The child laughed in delight. 'Four! I'm four now!'

'I don't believe you. You're far too little to be four.'

'I am!'

'Well,' Sherlock said, 'if it is your birthday, then do you know what we have to sing?'

'We've, we've got to sing happy birthday.'

'That's right!' John said, ruffling Arthurs hair.

_Happy birthday to you._

_Happy birthday to you._

_Happy birthday dear Arthur._

_Happy birthday to you!_

Arthur took a deep breath and blew out the candles. John clapped his hands and Sherlock, since his hands were full with holding the child, cheered softly.

'Did you make a wish?' John asked.

'Yup.'

'What was it?'

'Not tellin'!'

John chuckled. 'Alright; as long as it comes true.'

'It will. Can I have cake now?'

Sherlock nodded and set Arthur down, cutting separate slices of cake, placing them on plates. He handed a plate to Arthur.

'Where's your girlfriend?' Sherlock asked.

'Here I am!' A voice went from behind the door. They looked round to see a little girl with dark, frizzy hair and bright purple dungarees. 'I'm not Arthurs girlfriend!'

'There you are, Jessica. Where were you?' John said.

'Climbin' a tree.'

'...What tree?'

'I made one.'

'I...okay. Fancy some cake?'

'Yeah!' Jessica marched up to the table. 'I want a real big slice.'

'Hey, you get what you're given, sweet-heart.'

Jessica grumbled an apology and wolfed down the slice she was given.

'Wow.' Sherlock muttered. 'You eat quickly.'

'I know! My mummy says that too. She says I eat loads for someone who's five.'

'And yet you don't weigh a whole lot. Probably because you keep throwing yourself off things.'

'I've broken my leg twice.'

'Great. You're a great influence on Arthur.'

John smiled and kissed Sherlocks forehead. 'You can talk.'

'Of course.'

'Arthur?' Jessica said.

'Yeah?'

'How come you've got two daddies, and I've got a mummy and a daddy?'

Arthur thought for a moment. 'I dunno. I jus' do.'

'It's just how it is, Jess.' John said.

'My mummy and daddy got married in France.' Jessica said.

'We got married in London. Close enough. You ready to go, Arth?' Arthur nodded. 'Come one, Jess' mum is waiting to take you two to the park.'

Arthur nodded manically, and dashed out of the room with Jessica following. Sherlock and John watched from the window to see them climbing into Jessica's family car with a huge smile spread on Arthurs face.

They both went quiet, before John broke the silence. 'How long is Arth gonna be out?'

'Couple of hours.'

'Right.' A few seconds of silence. '...How long since we...?'

Sherlock gave him a sideways look. 'A few weeks.'

'Mm.' Yet another painfully long few seconds of silence, before they both looked at each other. The detective let an enormous grin spread across his face as John practically launched himself at him, knocking him backwards onto the sofa.


	40. Achoo!

**Hey guys, it's been a while. No particular reason...apart from the fact I have a cold...and two of my favourite (I know you're not meant to have favourites..) grandparents passed away in the space of two days...and that I have had a bit of a break-down...and that my closest friends in the universe have decided that this would be the best time to ignore me...all this in the space of 4 days...**

**BUT NEVERMIND HEY. CHEESY STORY. MAKES EVERYTHING BETTER...I'm off to have a ham sammich and a hot chocolate...BUT BEFORE THAT.**

**I noticed that it was Johnlock Oneshots' anniversary on the 11th. One whole year of sexual fustration, phycotic old friends, snogs against the wall, fluffy hugs, and a little boy who doesn't want to hear shouting again.**

**Thanks, guys. You're pretty damn awesome.**

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><p>Sherlock sneezed loudly, rubbing one of his reddened eyes. <em>Nearly finished,<em> he thought, turning back to look into his microscope._ Just five more minutes and...ah...ah! _He spun away and sneezed again, feeling incredibly sorry for himself. He knew it was a bad idea to shake Lestrade's hand while the inspector was suffering from a particularly nasty cold. He heard John open the door to their flat and step into the kitchen.

'Are you okay?'

'Fine.' Sherlock replied.

John frowned at him. 'What's with the voice?'

'What voice?'

'Your nose sounds blocked.' The doctor said, strolling towards him.

'I'm fine, everything's fine.'

John ignored him, placing the back of his hand over Sherlocks forehead. After a few seconds he stepped back. 'You've got a fever.'

'No I haven't.'

'Yeah, right, you're burning up. Why are you working while you're ill?'

'Results need to be in tomorrow.'

'No, I'll call Molly and tell her to do it. You need to rest.'

'I'm perfectly fi...I'm...' Sherlocks eyes started closing by themselves. 'Excuse me...' He sneezed once again.

John sighed and pulled on the detectives arm. 'Come on, get up; you're not well.'

Sherlock staggered to his feet. 'Where am I going?'

'Bed, you need to sleep.' John said, marching upstairs.

'Do I get a choice in this?'

'No.'

'Right.'

John opened the door to Sherlocks room and ushered the invalid inside. 'You need to rest for a couple of hours, so if-' John tilted his head at him. 'You're shivering.'

Sherlock blinked and then sniffed. 'I'm sorry?'

'Maybe you've got flu. If that's the case then I'm not leaving you yet.'

'Wha...ah...ah...' Sherlock sneezed and then coughed loudly.

'I'll be right back.' John dashed out of the room and after a moment came back with a damp flannel. He placed it on the side table and looked back at the detective. 'Are you hot?'

'A bit.'

John threw Sherlocks pyjama bottoms, which were strewn about on the floor, at him. 'Put these on. You must be boiling in that suit.'

Sherlock caught it smartly. 'And my t-shirt?'

'Don't bother, best to keep your temperature down.'

'Oh.' Sherlock quickly unbuttoned his jacket, placing it over his chair. He began unbuttoning his shirt, but his hands were shaking too much; he barely managed one button before having to stop and cough loudly.

John sighed. 'Let me.' Sherlocks hands dropped by his sides as the doctor unbuttoned his shirt for him. Sherlock stared down at him with a slightly open mouth; John glanced up at him as he hesitantly pulled it off his shoulders. John felt his skin go a violent shade of magenta as he cleared his throat and stepped back. 'I'll...ah, leave you to t-take your trousers off.'

Sherlock frowned. 'Why would you need to leave the room? We're both male.'

'I know, I just thought you might want some privacy.'

'Ah, I see.' Sherlock unbuckled his belt which made John automatically turn round. After a while Sherlock said, 'I'm decent now.'

John turned back again. 'Right.' He gestured to the bed. 'In. You need to rest.'

Sherlock grumbled and enveloped himself into bed while having yet another sneezing fit.

'I'll be back in a few hours.' John said. 'Shout out if you need anything.'

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><p>'John! John, where are you?'<p>

The doctor darted into Sherlocks room to see the detective shivering with the bed-sheets twisted around his arms and legs, trapping him down. John panicked and shook both of Sherlocks shoulders. 'Sherlock? Can you hear me? Wake up!' Sherlocks eyes snapped open as he sat bolt-upright. As his eyes adjusted to reality he felt his lungs burning. Had he been screaming? Sherlock stared at nothing as John spoke, 'my God, are you okay?'

Sherlock didn't answer. Instead, he leaned into John's chest, fingers curling into his jumper. He felt Johns arms wrap around him.

'Hey, it's okay.' John said. 'I'm pretty sure you've just had a feverish dream-' Sherlocks shoulders started shaking. 'Oh, Jesus.' The detective let out an involuntary sob. John buried his nose in Sherlocks hair. 'I'm here. I'm right here, okay?' Sherlock nodded as a response as John gently rocked him back and forth as a form of comfort. They stayed there for what seemed like ages, humbled by each other's company.

Eventually John parted. 'You alright now?' Sherlock nodded. 'Excellent.' John pulled up a chair so he could sit beside the bed. 'Lie back.' Sherlock did as he was told. John grabbed the flannel and sat forward in his seat. He brushed away the curl which clung to Sherlocks forehead and dabbed the invalids brow with the flannel. 'There. Feel better now?'

'A little.' Sherlock hesitated. 'Sorry for...crying.'

'Not at all. Can I ask what your dream was about?'

'I'd...rather not say.'

'Come on, tell me.'

Sherlock paused for a moment. 'I dreamt that it wasn't me who jumped from St. Bart's.' John went still. '...It was you.'

The shorter man shook his head and carried on cooling his patients' forehead. 'That would never happen.'

'I know, I know. It still happened in my head though.'

'I would never do that to you. Even if you did it to me.'

'You know I wasn't given a choice.'

'I know.' John sighed and shook his head. 'I thought we promised to never talk about it again?'

'Of course. Sorry.'

There were a few moments of silence, before John asked, 'how are you feeling?'

'Horrifically disgusting.'

'That good, eh?'

Sherlock chuckled. 'I probably look pretty dreadful as well.'

'Slightly.' John went to stand up. 'I'll leave you to go back to sleep now.'

Sherlocks hand gripped around John's wrist. 'Don't go.'

The doctor looked back at him. 'I'm sorry?'

'Please stay, just for a while longer.'

John sat down again. 'Why?'

'Because I want you to.'

'I...okay.' John swallowed. 'You're still holding onto my wrist.'

'I do seem to be, don't I?'

'Are you going to let go?'

'No.'

'Oh. Well, never mind. Can I get you anything?'

'I'm fine how I am. Just...stay with me.'

John smiled and nodded. 'I will.' He lazily ran his fingers through Sherlocks curls.

Sherlock smiled back vaguely. 'Have you got a thing for my hair?'

'Possibly.' John replied. Sherlock raised his hand to place it on the side of Johns face. Johns smile fell. 'What are you doing?'

'What's it look like?'

John smiled again and kissed Sherlock quickly on the forehead. 'Happy now?'

'Very. You're probably going to catch the flu now.'

'I don't actually care.'

'Then you won't mind if I don't mind if I do this...' He tugged on John's jumper so he could gently plant a kiss on his lips. When they parted John smiled from the corner of his mouth at him.

'Of course I don't mind.'

'Thought not.'

The doctor stood up and folded himself into bed next to him. They looked at each other with fingers loosely entwined.

'So, are we a thing now?' John asked.

Sherlock shrugged and covered up a cough with his hand. 'You tell me.'

'_You_ tell me.'

Sherlock closed his eyes. 'I'm tired.'

'I guessed.'

'I don't want to sleep though. I don't want to have a dream like that again.'

'You won't, I promise.'

'You can't possibly know that.'

'I do.'

'How?'

'Because I'm here. I won't let you have bad dreams anymore.'

Sherlock smiled sleepily. 'Thank you.'


	41. Don't Go

**So this is quite a sad one.**

**Emotional music in appropriate here!**

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><p>They both knew this day would come. Despite every moment of pure happiness between them, both of their minds would hurry back to the inevitable ending which always loomed in their minds. Sometimes it would be nothing more than a hum, other times it would scream in their ears so loudly that they couldn't focus on anything but that festering thought.<p>

The day John Watson would move out of Baker Street to live with Mary, his girlfriend.

It had been planned for months; the house, the rooms, the furniture John would be taking and what he would be leaving behind. The day he told Sherlock was pure torture for him. The detective was in one of his silent moods when John broke it to him, so he didn't react at all for a long time. A week later, John swore he heard Sherlock...not sobbing, but certainly distressed. John never asked him what was wrong...he doubted he would've answered anyway.

Every time they solved a case and had that moment of self-satisfaction, they would hold on to it for as long as they could, before being forced to let the thought of the future slink up to the front of their minds. The unsaid fact. The taboo subject.

For Sherlock, it wasn't John's habits, his strange little ordinary things he did, his scolding's and annoyed tuts when he found limbs in the fridge, that he would miss. He wouldn't miss his constant nag for him to eat, sleep, keep healthy while working on a case. It would be...it would be him that he would miss. Just _him_. His presence. There was no other way he could describe it; John could be a silent, inanimate object and Sherlock would break if you took it away from him. There was something so soothing, so humbling about having him around; he made Sherlock feel safe.

For John, it would be the constant screech of the violin, the heads in the microwave, the life-threatening cases which he would miss. Without them, there would be something off about his life. Something missing that nothing else could replace. Sure, Sherlock drove him up the wall with almost everything he did but, weirdly enough, he felt that if he left Baker Street, Sherlock would stop with his annoying habits. He needs an audience to show off his strange little ways of life to. Sherlock made John feel needed-when John leaves, he feared that Sherlocks power would run out. His battery would die, and he would not be able to be revived until John returned to him.

Okay, John was scared. He would have never admitted it, but he was. He loved Mary, of course he did but...this was something new, something different and responding to change wasn't one of his strong points. He didn't know what he was thinking; of course he had to leave at some point-it was only a matter of time until he would leave to move in with the love of his life. He didn't think about all this when he asked to move in with her, he didn't think it would be quite this painful to turn his back on his...Companion? Friend? Colleague? None of the above? If there were such a thing as soul-mates, John was pretty sure that he was about to walk away from his and not turn back. Could he do that? Could he seriously, honestly do that without crumbling? Time is a great healer, he supposed. He would get used to not being woken up by the kitchen exploding, and Sherlock would forget about him and continue his life without him.

The boxes had been slowly building up around the living-room, corridors and John's bedroom. Talk about building-blocks of his future. He woke up early to finish off packing and taping down each boxes lid. He was going to text the delivery guys when he got to Mary's so it wasn't as disruptive for the detective.

No putting off any longer; he hesitantly knocked on Sherlocks door before peeping inside. Still asleep, still in his suit from yesterday. John smiled-he'd never seen Sherlock asleep before; limbs sprawled out, his arm hanging off the end of his bed, shoes still on and scuffing the bed-spread. John sighed and walked over to him. He bent over him and then stopped. What was he doing? He frowned at himself. Was he seriously about to kiss his friend good-bye? He leaned back again, paused, kissed Sherlock's forehead and went to stand up properly. He couldn't. He couldn't just leave without saying good-bye properly, could he? He bit his nails, unsure of what to do. He didn't want to wake him up-Sherlock hadn't slept in ages. John would have to tell him he had left without waking him.

Sherlock groaned as he woke up. He reached for his watch on the side-table-half-past seven in the morning. He flopped back down again, undoing a few of the buttons on his shirt so he could be more comfortable...His fingers stilled when they got to his neck. He looked down at his hands and sat up immediately. John's dog-tags hung around his neck, now gripped in Sherlocks fist.

He's leaving now.

Sherlock bolted to the window, seeing John walking alone across the street, a few yards from the flat. He backed away, pacing up and down the floor of his room. It's okay, everything's fine, everything's fine. John will have a wonderful life with his girlfriend. Maybe they'll get married, have children, and Sherlock will fade away from him forever. Sherlock brushed a hand over his face; John would forget him, but that doesn't mean that Sherlock would forget John. Ever.

_Run after him, run after him, run after him._

Sherlock tore his way downstairs and ran out of the front door. 'John!' John's walking pace slowed. 'John, stay right there!'

John chewed on the inside of his lip. That wasn't meant to happen. He stopped walking completely and turned round. Sherlock suddenly seemed hesitant as he approached him. John blinked at him. 'Yes?'

Sherlock shuffled from foot to foot. 'You...forgot this.' He gestured to the dog-tags.

'I did it deliberately, Sherlock.'

'I...I know. I just, I wanted to...'

'What?'

Sherlock took a deep breath. 'It's not important. I'll...have a good life, John.' He turned and walked back to the flat. John swallowed and nodded to himself, turning the other way. Don't turn back now.

He turned back and stared.

Sherlock had nearly made it to the doorway, before he had curled up on the pavement, leaning against the railing with his knees tucked up to his chin. John walked over to him. 'Sherlock? What's...' Sherlocks shoulders were shaking, hands covering up his face. John hesitantly knelt down in front of him. 'What's going on?'

The detective looked up at him and John shattered. Sherlocks face was red with wet tear-stains. He sobbed uncontrollably. 'You can't leave me!' He latched onto John, making him lose balance a little. 'I can't let you go!'

John wrapped his arms around him, eyes stinging with tears. 'It's okay, everything's okay...' He let out an involuntary whimper. 'Oh God, I don't want to leave you!'

They both sat there, holding onto each other and weeping for what felt like forever. Eventually, Sherlock let out a shaky, 'I'm sorry.'

'No. Don't you apologize. Don't you dare apologize. I don't want to leave you now; I never want to leave you.'

'Don't. I need you to stay with me.'

John knotted his fingers in Sherlock's hair, 'I know, and I'm sorry, Sherlock. I...I can't lose you either. Not again.'

Sherlock breathing shook. 'Marry me.'

John stopped breathing. 'What did you say?'

Sherlock buried his face in Johns shoulder. 'Please, just...just marry me, John.'


	42. Don't Go part 2

**Hey guys, just here to tell you that I have a new story AU story called, 'How Much Do I Owe You?'. It's rated M. I know. I'm proud of myself as well. So, yeah-check it out if you want some Sherlock rated M goodness.**

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><p>The doctor stared at him. 'What are you saying?'<p>

'What do think I'm saying?!'

John shook his head. 'I don't understand...'

'Yes you do, it's impossible for you not to.'

Johns eyes filled with fresh tears. 'You want to marry me...' Sherlock nodded. John's brow furrowed. 'You...you love me.'

Sherlock nodded again, looking at the ground. 'I'm sorry, I just, I can't hide it anymore.'

John sighed and gripped onto Sherlocks shoulders. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

'Because you're with Mary!'

'Just stop it.' John burst into tears again. 'You're more important to me than anyone else could be-you should've told me!' He spluttered.

Sherlock shook his head. His eyes ached from crying. 'You're tormenting me.'

John put two fingers underneath Sherlocks chin, making him look up at him. He paused a centimetre from Sherlock's mouth. 'Can I?'

Sherlock's breathing became shallow. 'Yes.'

John closed the gap between them, kissing him gently. Sherlock practically collapsed against John, kissing him back hungrily. When John parted, he pressed his forehead against the detectives. He helped Sherlock stand up with him. 'Here. Let's get you inside.' He opened the door to their flat and walked inside with the detective following. John closing the door behind them seemed to be the loudest thing they had ever heard. For a long time, all John could do was stare at the back of Sherlocks head as the detective faced away from him. He didn't really know what to now; they had both confessed something that they shouldn't have confessed... John felt himself fill with that thought. The one person he absolutely could not possibly live without, who he thought would never look at him in that way had just asked to marry him. John closed his eyes for a few seconds, turning the thought over and over in his mind. If this wasn't perfection, then he will never know what it is.

He took an uneasy step towards Sherlock and kissed his jaw. Sherlocks shoulders sagged as he turned to look at him. 'I need you, John.'

That was enough encouragement. The doctor immediately rose to his tip-toes to kiss Sherlock properly, savouring every second of it. Sherlocks eyes fluttered closed as he tilted his head and placed a hand on the others shoulder, shuddering when John ran his hand up and down his arm slowly. Sherlock pushed his fingers through Johns hair, breaking apart for a second. 'I love you.'

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><p>Noise of hurried foot-steps of early-rising commuters echoed outside. John ignored it. Why would he look towards it, when he had Sherlock was lying next to him sleepily, stroking his thumb across the doctors cheekbone? They stared at each other for seemingly hours, humbled by each other's company. Eventually John broke the silence.<p>

'Did I imagine the whole conversation we had outside?' He muttered.

Sherlock blinked at him. 'What makes you say that?'

'It just doesn't seem like it happened. In the space of one morning, we've gone from being friends to ending up sleeping together.'

'We haven't slept yet.'

'You know what I mean.'

Sherlock smiled. 'Sorry. Carry on.'

'There's not much else to say. You've become my lover...you've...' John's eyes widened. 'You asked to marry me, didn't you?'

'Indeed I did.'

'Christ...were you just saying all that stuff to make me stay?'

Sherlock raised his head. 'Don't say that. I know I can be a bit of a tosser sometimes, but I would never do that to you.'

'Thank God.'

The detective let his head flop back down again, lazily running his knuckle up and down the top of Johns chest. 'Well?'

'Well what?'

'What do you say? What's your answer?'

John raised his eyebrows. 'You were serious about the proposal thing as well?'

'Of course.'

'...I don't think I'd be a very good husband.'

'Is that a really nice way of saying "no"?'

'No, that was just me talking to myself on how I wouldn't be a very good husband.'

'I disagree with your statement.'

'You do?'

'I think you'd be a fantastic husband. You've had practise-you've put up with me for ages already.'

John smiled. 'That's true.' He wound one finger into Sherlocks hair, twisting one curl around it. 'I don't even know if I want to get married to anyone yet.'

'I hear a "but" coming on.'

John took a deep breath. 'Yeah, okay-I don't ever see myself marrying anyone else but you. There. I've said it now, mister snarky-bastard.'

'And?'

John rolled his eyes. _'Fine!_ I love you! I've fancied you ever since our first case together!' He looked at the detective from the corner of his eye to see him grinning. 'Stop that.'

'No.'

'You're proud of yourself, aren't you?'

'Very.' He ruffled Johns hair and kissed his forehead. They stayed there, a few centimetres away from each other.

John breathed a quiet, 'yes.'

Sherlock looked up at him properly. 'What?'

'You heard me perfectly.'

'You...' Sherlock smiled. 'You're saying yes?'

John kissed him quickly. 'Come on, be honest-was I ever going to say anything else?'


	43. Wings on My Back

**I don't really like this one, but here. Take ittt. **

**A bit o' slashy times, but not too much.**

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><p>John Watson stared at nothing, turning his mug of tea round with the handle. How long had he been sitting there? An hour? Two hours? He leaned back in his seat and cupped the mug with both. Cold; maybe he had been sitting there for a while. He stood, going to pick up the mug and then taking his hand away. What was the point? He'll just do it later. He leaned against the chair, sighing. He needed a hug. A hug and some Pringles; that's what normally cheers him up. He shook his head to himself-he was sounding like a child. Needing to be comforted because he missed his best friend...what was he, five years-old? He rolled his eyes and busied himself with needlessly ordering pieces of paper.<p>

Mundane, mundane, mundane, mundane.

John rubbed one of his eyes. What happens with his life now? Does he move on, like what everyone said he should do? His mouth went dry. He didn't think he could do that. He was disturbed from his thoughts when there was a knock on the living-room door. 'The door's open.' John said, turning his back on the door as it opened, busying himself with straightening pieces of paper. 'If you've come for the violin, it's in the corner.'

John heard the newcomer stay still. 'Why are you giving away the violin? I love that thing.'

John slowly raised his head. He turned round and time seemed to stand completely still. The doctor's heart seemed to jump inside his throat as he croaked, 'I thought I had got past the hallucinating stage by now.'

Sherlock Holmes shook his head. John blinked at him, he seemed so real. 'You're not hallucinating. I'm here.'

'Sure. They normally say that too.'

Sherlock raised his hand. 'I'm really here. You can check, if you like.'

John hesitantly walked towards him. As if in slow-motion, he touched Sherlocks finger-nail and jumped back. 'I...I can feel you?'

'You can.'

John entwined his fingers around Sherlock's. He winced. 'Your hands are freezing.'

'Mm.'

John suddenly looked angry. He snatched his hand away. 'This isn't possible. You died three years ago.' He raised his voice. 'Three years! Three fucking years! How can you be here?'

Sherlock looked at the ground. 'I'm sorry, John.'

'You're sorry? No, I don't think you understand...' John buried his face in his hand. 'I mourned you, Sherlock. I went to your funeral...I saw you lowered into the ground...' He looked up at him. 'And now you're here, and you're fine...How can you do this to me?!'

'I'm honestly, honestly so sorry. I would have come back to you sooner, but I couldn't. I shouldn't be here now.'

John was shaking. 'I'm sure you're very proud of yourself, aren't you?!' He spat. 'I bet you can't wait to tell me how you're alive. Go on, then.' He grabbed Sherlock by the lapels. 'Your time to shine-tell me how you survived.'

Sherlock, as if it took a lot of effort, looked up at him. 'I'm sorry.'

'So you keep saying.'

'You're not listening. I was answering your question.'

'That doesn't answer-' Johns face fell. He stepped away. 'My God, please don't say this.'

Sherlocks head dipped. 'There was nothing I could do.'

Johns eyes stung with tears. 'You can't say this. Please, please don't say this.'

'I couldn't do anything.'

A tear ran down Johns cheek. 'You're...you...' He swallowed. 'You're dead.' Sherlock nodded. 'This is impossible.'

'That's what I thought. After three years, you tend to get used to it.'

'How am I able to touch you?'

'I'm not sure. I suppose just because I'm here, on Earth, or something.'

'I...I don't believe you.'

'Didn't think you would.' Sherlock muttered, and took off his coat and scarf. Then he started unbuttoning his jacket.

John blinked at him. 'What are you taking your clothes off for?'

'You'll see.' He dropped his jacket and started on his shirt.

'I...don't need you to take off your shirt.'

'Yes you do.'

'I do?'

'Mm.' He slipped his shirt off and bit his lip, shutting his eyes.

John paused, looking at him as if he was mad. 'Sherlock, what are you-'

'Sh. I need to concentrate.'

There was a moment of silence, before John clapped both hands over his mouth, backing away. 'Oh my God...'

Sherlock looked away sheepishly. Sprouting from his back were two, huge, feathered wings, each one the height of their owner. They stretched out so they fit almost the length of the entire room. They looked soft, and were a shocking white.

John stared at them. 'You're...' He staggered towards Sherlock, leaning into his chest. 'You're so, so beautiful.'

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. 'That wasn't the reaction I was expecting.'

John burst into tears. 'You're an angel.'

'I thought that was obvious.'

The doctor gave a weary laugh. 'You haven't changed!'

'Of course not.' He placed a hand on John's back.

'You came back to me.'

'Yes.'

'How?'

'It took a while for me to work it out, break my way through all of this heavenly stuff and fly here.'

'You did all that just to see me again?'

'Well, yes. Is that a problem?'

John looked up at him. 'That's...that's incredible.'

'I know.'

John turned his attention to one of Sherlock's wings. 'What's it feel like to be dead?'

'Odd. I never need to do anything anymore. It gives me time to other things, though, so that's a plus.'

'So you live in heaven now?'

'I don't know where I live- it's not like I've met God or anything. I just kind of floated around on a cloud for three years.'

'Sounds boring.' John muttered, his tears fading.

'There are worse things to spend your time doing.'

John raised a hand, paused, and then looked back at him. 'Can I?'

'Be my guest, but they're quite...sensitive.'

'I'll be gentle-I won't hurt you.' John said, gingerly running a hand over the top of Sherlocks wing. 'Can you feel that?' Sherlock nodded. 'Your wings are huge.'

'Well, they need to be big enough to support a person.'

'Are they heavy?'

'Not really. That's like asking if your arm is heavy.'

'Good point.' John moved his hand a little too quickly, brushing the feathers in the wrong direction. Sherlock winced and John took his hand away. 'Sorry. Did that hurt you?'

'Only slightly. It mainly just felt very strange.'

'I'll try not to do it again.'

'Thank-you.'

John gently stroked his hand through the feathers at the centre of Sherlocks wing. 'Is that alright?'

'Yes.' Sherlocks shoulders sagged. 'That...'

'What?'

'Nothing.'

'Can I carry on?'

'Please.'

John ran his thumb slightly diagonally over a line of tiny, fluffy feathers near the top. Sherlocks eyes fluttered and...

'Did you just _purr_?' John asked, smiling.

Sherlocks eyes widened. He shook his head. 'No.'

'You did-I heard you.'

'Look, it's _nice _having my wings stroked!'

'...Really? What's it feel like?'

'Like...like when someone runs their fingers through your hair.'

'Oh. I thought it would be something more interesting than that.'

'Carry on.'

'Right, okay.' John ruffled a few feathers, making Sherlock smile. 'Does that feel strange?'

'No, I like it.'

John nodded. 'You're so, so beautiful.' He muttered, and ran one knuckle down the line of larger feathers. Sherlock sighed and his wings shuddered. John drew his hand away, slightly alarmed. 'Are you okay?'

'Yes.' Sherlock said, and then paused. 'Come here.'

'Sorry?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes and nudged John towards him with his wing, making the doctor stumble a little towards him. 'Hey! You could've just-' He stopped talking when Sherlock kissed him, wrapping an arm around his waist. John raised both eyebrows, before sighing and snaking both arms around Sherlocks neck. Okay, John had never been kissed by Sherlock before, so he had no idea how he kissed. He didn't know how good he was...is it even possible to be that good at kissing? Maybe it was just another heavenly perk. He frowned slightly at the sudden lack of light filtering through his eyelids. He parted and opened his eyes to see that Sherlock had enclosed the two of them inside his wings, like two, huge, feathered shields. John stared up at him. '...I'm kissing an angel.'

'Yes you are.' Sherlock replied.

'...Is this necrophilia?'

The angel frowned slightly. 'I don't know. I don't think so.'

'But you're dead.'

'I know, but it's not like I don't have a conscience.'

'True.' John hesitated. 'I want to kiss you again.'

'Be my guest.'

John smiled and locked lips with him again, receiving a light sigh as a reward. He planted kisses across Sherlock's neck, murmuring an abundance of compliments. Sherlock closed his eyes and ran a hand through the doctor's hair, kissing his temple. John smiled against Sherlock's neck. 'You're a bad angel.' He said, as the taller man ran his hand underneath John's shirt.

'Don't care.' Sherlock mumbled, and then gasped when Johns hand moved back onto his wing, touching each individual feather in a line. 'Do that again.' John did as he was told, and then awkwardly kissed the top of it. Sherlock let out a muffled '_yes_', and his wings spread out, shuddering. John returned back in front of him, spinning him round so Sherlock's back hit the coffee table, kissing him again. Sherlock's hand rested on the coffee table for a split second and his eyes snapped open. He pushed John away, staring at him.

John looked confused. 'What's wrong?'

Sherlock shook his head. 'Oh, John,' he whispered, 'what have you done...'

John smiled at him innocently. 'I'm sorry?'

Sherlock looked at him with glassy eyes. 'I'm so...so beyond sorry...'

'What are you talking about?' John took a step towards him. 'I don't under-'

'The mug of tea, on the table.'

John stopped walking and looked at it. 'What about it?'

'It's been there for a long time.'

'So? It went cold.'

'It went cold months ago.'

'...Pardon?' Johns eyes narrowed for a second. 'Look, it's just some tea-'

'Why haven't you washed it up then?'

'I don't know why this-'

'You keep on going to, but then something stops you, am I right?'

'What are you saying?'

'You keep attempting to go and wash it up, but you can't, because you can't pick it up.'

John froze. 'Sorry?'

'You can't pick up anything. You can sit down on that chair because you were there when it happened, and you can touch me because I'm already dead, and I can pick up things because I'm an angel and not-'

'Just stop it!' John snapped, stepping away. 'Why are you saying all this?!'

Sherlock picked up a book from the side and without warning threw it at John's chest. John yelled and ducked but it hit his head. And then it went straight through him, crashing into the back wall. John slowly straightened up again, staring at the fallen book. Sherlock's voice seemed to echo around the room. 'I'm sorry John. But you're dead. Going by the tea, I'd say you died about two months ago.'

John looked down at his hands, turning them over slowly. 'Two months...'

'Seems like it. And I'm so sorry, John, but you killed yourself...the powder burns from your gun is a clear sign.'

'How could you say this? I'm not dead!'

'You couldn't cope being without me-'

'I would never do that!'

Sherlock walked towards him, enveloping his arms around him. 'You missed me, so you killed yourself just to see me again. You came back as a ghost because you needed me with you to move on. Even as a ghost you waited for me.'

John blinked back tears. He gave a quiet, 'oh.'

'I was too late. I was two months too late. I could've stopped you if I was here.'

They stayed there for a moment, before John frowned to himself and peeled Sherlock off of him. 'Sherlock...what's...?' He screwed up his face and rolled back his shoulders. 'Is there something on my shoulders-?' He tried looking at his back, scratching it. He let out a gasp of pain, his scratching turning into clawing. 'What's happening to me?!' He panicked hunching forwards. 'I...I need...' He unconsciously pulled off his jumper and threw it onto the floor. He started scrambling at his shirt buttons, tugging that off too. 'Help me!' He shouted, dropping to his knees in agony. _'Sherlock!_' And then the pain stopped completely. John panted deeply, shivering. 'What happened?'

Sherlock stooped down in front of him. 'Oh John.' Sherlock murmured, smiling with glazed eyes. 'Look at yourself.'

John dared to look round, to see the two white, feathered wings sprouting from his back, a little smaller than Sherlock's. 'I'm...'

Sherlock cupped the doctor's face with both of his hands. 'I'm here now. You can move on.'

John looked up at him. 'I can move on.' He repeated.


	44. Let's Have Dinner (RATED M)

**FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PLEASE READ THIS.**

**So. Ha. Uh. This may need some explanation.**

**1. Listen to this warning here-this story is rated M. Yeah, I know. Please, please, please be the right age for this because I will not be held responsible for anyone who I mentally scar. **

**2. This story is long. Really long.**

**3. This is basically a re-write of 'Under The Table' for anyone who finds this familiar. It also has a bit of 'Facing Facts' and 'Love?', so...there ya go.**

**I'm saying this again-please read at your own risk. 'Kay? **

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><p>'You need to do this thing.'<p>

'No.'

'You have to.'

'I refuse.'

John buttoned up his brown jacket, fixing his tie. 'Come on. Mycroft asked for us specifically. We'll be dining with the best there is.'

Sherlock Holmes groaned and smoothed down his suit. 'This is everything I hate rolled into one evening- Mycroft, eating, boring conversations, socialising...the list goes on.'

'Oh, grow up. This is just one night of eating with civilised company-please behave. Who's going to be there anyway?'

'Several MP's, politicians, novelists, governors,' he paused and then looked away, 'my mother...'

John smiled. 'Really? I'm finally going to meet your parents?'

'My mother, not my father. And you won't be meeting her because we won't be so much as breathing in her direction.'

'Why?'

'You're asking a lot of questions.' Sherlock said, buttoning up his cuffs on his jacket. 'Because I don't like her, alright?'

John raised both hands in surrender. 'Okay, okay.' He said. 'I was just asking.'

'And I was just replying.' Sherlock made for the door.

'Wait!'

The detective looked back at John. 'What?'

'Why aren't you wearing a tie?'

'I never wear ties.'

'This has to be an exception.' John pressed. He left the living-room and after a moment returned with said item of clothing. 'Borrow one of mine for tonight.' He offered, handing Sherlock the length of black fabric.

The darker-haired man turned it over in his fingers. 'It's very thin.'

'That's why it's called a skinny tie. I thought it would look good with the black and white thing you've got going on.' He looked at Sherlock to see him hanging the tie around his neck, looking at it with a confused expression. 'Please tell me you know how to tie a tie.'

'Look, I've never needed to learn.' Sherlock explained and John sighed. 'Well, I'm sorry that I don't know how to do pointless, dull tasks.'

'Stand still.'

Sherlock did as he was told. 'Why?'

John stopped in front of him and knotted the tie for him. 'Any excuse to even be close to strangling you is good enough for me.'

'Charming.'

'Always.' After a few more seconds John stepped back. 'There. At least you look half-decent.'

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><p>'Welcome.' Mycroft Holmes said in his usual patronizing slur. John stepped out of the taxi they had arrived in and gaped. He knew Mycroft was rich, sure, but he think he was<em> this <em>rich. The manor was in the middle of nowhere, towering over any tree that surrounded it. It was a vast red-brick Victorian structure, and the garden seemed to stretch on for miles.

Sherlock stood on the white gravel drive. 'How long do we have to stay for?'

Mycroft smirked. 'As long as it takes you to behave, Sherlock. The other guests have already taken their seats in the dining-room.' He led the way inside to the room he spoke of.

The dining-room was just as grand as the exterior of the manor. Large ebony panels lined the walls and encased the hum of conversation. In the centre of the room was a very long and thin wooden table to which sat an array of people. A lot of them seemed to have very high class and jobs John could only dream of having. There were only two seats left, positioned at the end of the table, facing opposite each other. Sherlock and John had left their coats in the corridor and made their way to their seats. They barely got further than four inches when;

'Sherly, darling!'

Sherlock stopped, turning an extreme shade of magenta. John looked around to try and find a body to go with the voice. 'Who's that?'

'No one important.' Sherlock said quickly.

The voice piped up again. 'Sherlock, come over here!'

John looked at the thin, elderly woman with white curly hair sat opposite Mycroft. 'I'm guessing that-'

Sherlock took a deep breath, plastered on a fake smile, and turned to face her. 'Hello, mother.'

'About time too.' She snapped. 'How many times do I have to call my own son's name for him to notice me?'

'Twice, apparently.'

'Don't try to be clever, Sherlock.'

'I wasn't.'

'Behave!' Sherlock's mother said, turning into a thin line. Eventually her features softened. 'Come over here and let me look at you.' Sherlock's smile dropped as he reluctantly stepped towards her. She peered at him. 'You've got all thin. I can see your bones-you need to eat more, young man.'

Sherlock sighed irritably.

'And your hair!' His mother continued. 'When was the last time you had a hair-cut?'

'Can I go now-'

'Where have you been? You never visit, you never write to us, you barely even talk to Mycroft!'

Sherlock looked at the floor. 'I'm sorry.'

'I sincerely hope so.' She looked past him. 'Who's this?'

John wanted to fade from existence. Instead he tried a smile. 'John Watson-I'm Sherlock's partner.'

'Oh, really?' She narrowed her eyes at him. 'And in what way?'

'In a colleague way, but also in a friend way,' John gabbled. 'Not in a romantic way, which is fine if someone is gay, but I'm not. And it's nothing against your son, it's not like he's not attractive or anything, he's just, you know, male and I'm not interested in-'

'We'll be going now.' Sherlock said, ushering John away. 'I'll speak to you later.' They both escaped by quickly walking towards their seats at the other end of the room, laughing nervously.

'I'm so sorry.' John said. 'I was trying not to insult anyone, including you.'

'You're an idiot. She probably thinks we're shagging now.'

'I know, I'm sorry.' John sat down with Sherlock taking the seat opposite. A plate of Sunday roast was presented to each guest by Mycroft's staff. Within a few minutes of everyone had settled down to their own conversations. Sherlock and John both knew that they were probably meant to mingle with the other guests, but neither of them were great at that, so they kept to each other's company. Since there was no head of the table, there was no one to really get to know who wasn't already chatting to someone else. Eventually Mycroft called out to Sherlock.

'Sherlock, have you heard from our uncle recently?'

Sherlock looked up at him. 'Should I have?'

'Mummy's just told me that he's moved to Argentina.'

'Wonderful.'

John smiled at his plate. He knew exactly when Sherlock was bored, which was right now. He saw him cross and uncross his legs, getting fidgety; thank God Mycroft didn't have a gun handy. Several other people had joined in the discussion, and Sherlock gave a vague attempt to look interested. He said something about their aunt's new job...and slowly started running his foot up and down John's leg under the table.

John dropped his fork in surprise, making Sherlock glance at him with a smirk. 'Everything alright, captain?'

The doctor gritted his teeth. 'Oh, everything's fine.' He waited until the conversation involving Sherlock had died down before looking around to check if anyone was listening. 'What do you think you're doing?' He said at last.

'You tell me.'

'You're...playing with my feet.'

'I think the correct term is "footsie".'

'Why are you doing this? Are you _that_ bored?!'

'Correct.'

John looked bewildered. 'You are joking, right?'

'No. I am genuinely bored and this is amusing me.'

'Like how?'

Sherlock leaned forward in his seat, chin resting on his clasped hands with his elbows on the table. 'Like the fact that you haven't told me to stop yet.'

John went scarlet. 'I...was just about to.'

'Right.'

'I was.'

'Fine-I'll stop now.'

'You don't have to.' John said quickly.

Sherlock smiled. 'And why's that?'

'If it keeps you entertained, then I don't care.'

'Of _course_ that's the reason.'

'Shut your mouth.'

'Never.' He started stroking the doctor's foot with his own. 'Anyway, what were we saying?'

'We were talking about how we should try for a new mortgage on...on the flat.'

'Ah, yes.' Sherlock leaned back in his seat, running his shoe underneath John's trouser-leg. 'Which company were you thinking of?'

'I was...uh, thinking of the local one at the...' He swallowed visibly. 'Sherlock.'

'Yes?'

John pursed his lips. 'Nothing.'

'No, please.' Sherlock insisted, rubbing his leg over John's shin. 'Do tell.'

'I told you-nothing.'

Sherlock shrugged and his leg slipped away. John failed to mask his disappointment as he said a quiet, 'oh.'. He frowned as Sherlock shuffled a little where he sat, dipping down for a second. 'What are you...?' The doctor heard something clunk to the floor. Sherlock straightened up and John's frown deepened. 'Did you just take your shoe off?' His question was answered when he felt Sherlock's foot start to press on the inside of his thigh. 'I...' John bit his lip, his ears turning pink. 'You're...'

'I'm what?'

'Messing with my head.'

Sherlock laughed. 'When am I not?' He said, and his foot rested on John's crotch. John's knee hit the table as a reflex, sending his drink almost clattering to the floor. His breathing started shuddering as the detectives curled and uncurled his toes over and over again.

'Sherlock.'

'Yes, John?'

John took several deep breaths. 'You, you need to stop, or I'll get a...I'll get an...'

'I'm sorry?'

John looked at him. 'You'll give me a...uh...'

Sherlock's eyes shone with delight. 'Really? Interesting-I didn't think that you were sexually attracted to me.'

John leaned forward and dropped his voice to a hiss. 'If someone is pressing their foot against your pants, you're going to have some sort of reaction to it!' He managed to finish his sentence before blushing furiously and looking the other way as his trousers began to get uncomfortably tight.

Sherlock's foot stilled. 'Ah.' He muttered.

'Yes, "ah".'

'You weren't joking.'

'Of course I bloody wasn't.'

'I...apologize.'

'No, you're very pleased with yourself.'

'Slightly.'

'Great.' John spat. Sherlock's toes started moving again, this time rotating around John's length. The doctor sank back in his chair with his eyes closing. 'Sherlock.'

'Hmm. _Very_ interesting.'

'I am _not_ one of your experiments.' John muttered. 'I am your flat-mate.'

'And also very intriguing.'

'You...can't do this to me! We're in the middle of a posh dinner!'

'And I'm bored.' Sherlock smiled. 'Entertain me.'

'Sherlock...' John had started sweating, his teeth clamping around his bottom lip. 'That...' He squirmed under Sherlock's foot and let out an involuntary groan, which caught the attention of one or two other guests.

'Are you alright, sir?' A well-dressed man with a beard asked.

John nodded quickly. 'Ah...yes, yes I'm fine.'

The man smiled reassuringly at him before turning back to his own conversations quick enough not to see John glare at the detective.

'Thanks a bloody lot.'

'You're welcome.'

'I was being sarcastic.'

'Really? I daresay you're enjoying this as much as I am.'

John felt himself go harder as Sherlock spoke. He put his forehead in his hands. 'Shit.' He mumbled. 'Shit, shit, shit, shit.'

'Ah-ha.' Sherlock said. 'Now was that because of my foot or...' His smile widened, 'my voice?'

John threw away his last shred of dignity as he muttered a only vaguely coherent, 'both,' and then, 'oh _God_...' as Sherlock's toes slowly flexed across John's erection. He'd lost all sense of embarrassment now; head tipped back, eyes closed, hand meandering towards his crotch and over Sherlock's foot, pushing him in the direction he should continue. A few more rich aristocrats gave the two of them (mostly John) odd looks. An elderly woman with dark skin and silver hair frowned at the doctor.

'What's wrong?'

'N...nothing.' John babbled, snapping his eyes open.

'You look very flushed. Are you ill?'

'I'm...' He glanced at Sherlock and stopped breathing completely. The detective was staring at him with half-lidded eyes. His food lay forgotten, his hand underneath the table. John pulled away from the table slightly, looking underneath it for a second to see Sherlock's fingers running painfully slowly up and down the obvious tenting in his trousers. John felt dizzy as he tried to speak again. 'Actually, I don't feel too great.'

The elderly woman looked at him sympathetically. 'Oh, dear me.'

'I think I might take a breather in the _upstairs bathroom now_.' He directed the last three words at the detective as he put his shoe back on.

'Okay love.' The woman said. 'I'll tell the host where you've gone if he asks.'

'Thank-you so much.' John said.

Now the tricky bit. Walking out of the room without anyone noticing his...predicament. He stood up gingerly, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets in an attempt to pull the fabric away from his groin to make it less obvious. As he walked away, he heard Sherlock say something along the lines of, 'I better check if he's alright,' and his chair scraping against the wooden floor. Before John could leave the room, Mrs Holmes, Sherlock and Mycroft's mother gripped onto his arm from her seat.

'Ah, John Watson, wasn't it?'

'Mrs Holmes, I-'

'I just wanted to say that Mycroft's told me about your military career, and I'm grateful for all the sacrifices you've made while being in Afghanistan.'

'That's great. Can you excuse me for a moment?'

She drew her hand away. 'Of course, I'm sorry. I'll let you go now-do tell Sherlock to visit me though.'

'I will.' John said fleetingly, practically running to the corridor with the sound of Sherlock following. He threw the door open and had barely had time to breathe before Sherlock joined him. The detective grabbed his hand, sprinting upstairs.

'This way.' He said.

They reached the top floor and John pushed Sherlock through the open bathroom door hurriedly, locking it behind both of them. Before Sherlock could comment on the garish colour of the wallpaper, the good doctor pushed him against the locked door, crashing his mouth against his. Hands pushed through hair, tongues explored mouths and fingers across any bit of skin they could find. John gripped onto Sherlock's mane, tugging his head roughly to one side and running his tongue over the length of the taller man's neck. Sherlock let a quiet moan tumble out of his mouth.

'Bite me,' John heard him say, 'bite me, bite me, bite me...' He repeated, words tripping over each other. John wasn't going to give in that easily; he moved his head, teeth barely grazing over skin. Sherlock squirmed in front of him. 'John,' he growled against the doctor's ear, 'bite me. Hurt me. Please; I am begging you.'

John felt his knees almost give way-hearing Sherlock Holmes' voice in this way was one thing, but hearing him beg for him was enough to make John moan. He finally complied, digging his teeth into that God-damn gorgeous throat. Sherlock's eyes rolled to the back of his head as he bit his lip and uttered a "more" to John. John sunk his teeth in harder, sharper, deeper until Sherlock's breathing had become erratic and his eyes had gone black with want.

Sherlock's sexual background had always been a mystery to the doctor and he doubted that he had any history to begin with. But hearing him ask to be hurt, groaning at this delicious, delicious pain was _unbearably_ hot.

Sherlock grabbed the sides of John's face, attacking him with an abundance of kisses, turning round so the shorter man was up against the door. He pushed one of his knees in-between John's legs, making him curse quietly and bury his face into the detectives shoulder. 'Sherlock...when we get back to the flat...I'm going to fuck you so fucking hard...I don't even think we'd make it up to your bedroom; we'd end up sprawled over the sofa, on the coffee table, half-way up the stairs, wherever...' He pulled on Sherlock's lapels. 'I'm going to bend you over, use that riding crop on you until you can't remember your own name, until you're so fucking turned on that you can't even speak. I'm going to deny you your orgasm until you're numb and so desperate that you'd kill to come. When I finally let you, you're going to scream out my name so the whole street knows who you belong to.'

Sherlock's eyes were drunk with desire. 'Is that a promise, captain?'

'Every word of it.'

'Fine; you get to dominate me when we get back home, but right now, right at this moment, you're mine, captain John Watson.'

A shiver ran down John's spine as Sherlock spoke. This wasn't love; this was need, lust, frantic urges to touch and to be touched.

And John loved it.

They locked lips again, never quite getting enough of each other. Sherlock's hand left the side of John's face to unbuckle the doctors belt. He undid the zip with a satisfying noise and pushed down his trousers and boxers enough for Johns erection to spring free, now deep purple and aching for attention. Sherlock teasingly ran a slender finger from base to tip. And then again. And again. And again. John arched his back, a strangled groan escaping his lips. Pre-cum leaked from the end of his cock and Sherlock caught some on the tips of his fingers, licking them clean while John looked at him with an open mouth.

'What you do to me...' He muttered, undoing Sherlocks trousers and tugging his boxers out of the way of the detectives erection. Now it was John's turn to tease, circling its head with his thumb. Sherlock's palm slammed against the part of the door above John's ear as he bit down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying out. John grinned at him. 'You like that?'

Sherlock managed a nod, claiming John's mouth again and pressing his pelvis with his own. John threw his head back in silent exclamation, the feeling of both their erections touching sending his abdomen on fire. Sherlock gritted his teeth with his forehead pressing against Johns shoulder. '_Fuck_,' he whispered.

John gripped onto Sherlock's arm. 'Please move. Please, please move.'

The detective took a few painfully long seconds to start rutting against Johns erection. A pang of electricity sparked through both of their spines and across the very pits of their stomachs. Sherlock attempted to keep at a slow rhythm without going insane; he wanted this to last, he wanted the build-up of pleasure to stay.

'Faster...'John breathed. 'I need it...'

Sherlock groaned with anticipation, obeying Johns request. They both let out long erratic pants, oxygen suddenly becoming impossible to come by as their arousals crushed together. They drank in each other hungrily, their moans echoing around them. Desperate for more contact, Sherlock gripped onto then shorter man's thigh and lifted it to wrap around the darker-haired mans arse. Johns finger-nails scratched the paint off the door-frame, with his other hand pulling in Sherlock for a long, messy kiss. Heat swam between them as tongues battled against each other and fingers left red streaks as they scratched over clothing. Sherlock groaned, picking up John's other leg so he was carrying him, the door being the only thing keeping him from falling. This was pure, torturous bliss, seeing Sherlock completely unravelled like this; dark curls sticking to his forehead, mouth hanging open and long, rich moans heard deep within his throat. Sherlock's idea of rhythm had gone out of the window, slamming their arousals together, the feeling becoming unbearable.

'Sherlock...' John uttered. 'I can't...I'm gonna...' Sherlock hit a certain spot and John almost screamed. 'Oh my God! Do that again!'

Sherlock complied as John rocked against him, wanting, no, needing more. 'I'm so cl...' Sherlock panted before widening his eyes. 'I've...I'm there, it's there, I can't...I can't hold it.'

John felt like the fire in his stomach was going to engulf him completely. 'Then don't.'

Sherlock gave one final rut before he became still. He let out a half-scream, half-moan, before tumbling through wave after wave of pleasure, a string of groans filling the room. John, seeing the detective like this, sent him over the edge with Sherlock's name on his lips. There was a moment of stillness as Sherlock set John back on his feet, collapsing against him. They both stayed silent for a long time, listening to each other's heart-beat's as they started to level out. Sherlock was the first to move-cleaning himself up and tucking himself in, doing up his trousers again. John moved away from the door and, with a small smile, Sherlock unlocked the door and left.

John closed it again afterwards and returned to leaning against the door. He found himself laughing at how ridiculous this situation was. He was just making himself look presentable when a thought struck him-Sherlock had had intercourse before, right? He wasn't a virgin, right? John's head spun; he didn't even think to ask him. God, he probably terrified him with the whole riding-crop thing. Why didn't Sherlock tell him? Was he too nervous to say anything...then again, he was the one who pressed his foot against John's pants. He smoothed out his suit and hair before leaving the bathroom.

* * *

><p>It took a while for John to find Sherlock outside in the garden, barely visible in the night's light, the spark of a cigarette catching John's eye. He jogged up to him. 'There you are.'<p>

Sherlock glanced at him briefly and held out his cigarette. 'Joining me?'

John smiled, taking it. 'Thanks.' It had been a long time since he'd smoked, and he supposed a time like this called for it to be re-lived. He tried to hand it back to Sherlock after he'd had a breath of poison, but he waved his hand away.

'Keep that one.' He said, holding a new one in his teeth and lighting it, shielding the flame with his hand.

There was a moment of silence before John looked at the black sky and Sherlock looked at him up and down. 'What are you thinking of?'

'Lots of clever little things.' John muttered, and then sighed. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

'Tell you what?'

'You know what.'

Sherlock breathed out the smoke from his cigarette. 'I didn't want to.'

'You should've.'

'Would it have made a difference?'

John looked back at him. 'I don't know. It's complicated.'

'You do realize that I started the whole thing.'

'Well, yes, but still.' John tapped away the ash onto the grass. 'You should've said something. I'm sorry.'

'Oh for God's sake, John.' Sherlock sighed. 'Stop apologizing when I was the one who started it! Technically I am still a virgin, and in case you've forgotten, I begged you to hurt me.'

'I know, but still, you should've told me.'

Sherlock ignored him, turning his attention to the stars. '...John?'

'Hm?'

The detective smiled to himself. 'Nothing. I just like knowing you're there.'

John felt himself smiling too. 'What was the real reason why you started the whole thing under the table?'

'I was bored.'

'And?'

'And...interested to see what your reaction was going to be. I didn't know it was going to escalate like this.'

'Was I an experiment to you?!'

'No, no, no. I was just curious.'

'Really?'

'Yes.'

'You're sure?'

'Sure.'

'Sherlock, when we get back to the flat...' John scratched the back of his head and looked away. 'I'm not expecting us to do anything. I just got carried away earlier on.'

'I know.'

'So, if you're worried that we had to do...' He took a deep breath. '...to have sex, then it's fine-we don't have to.'

Sherlock paused, biting the inside of his lip. '...What if I want to?'

John looked at him. 'Do you?'

Sherlock tilted his head and took a step forward and kissed him. This kiss wasn't lust, or passion, or need. It worked. Both cigarettes were dropped to the ground as the two men felt how well they seemed to fit each other. There was no hair-tugging, no neck-biting, no urge to move on to the next stage. Just Sherlock and John...knowing each other, understanding each other. It took a while for them to part, pressing their foreheads together.

'Do you...want to head back to the flat?' John muttered. 'I think your brother is watching from the house.'

Sherlock laughed and nodded. 'When isn't he?'

* * *

><p><strong>Part 2?<strong>


	45. Presents, Paws, and A Clueless Detective

**Tis the season to get OOC, fra-la-la-la-la-la-la!**

**Merry Christmas, my lovely, lovely people! And to those wandering what's happening with 'Let's Have Dinner', I promise that there will be a part 2 for it very, very soon! xx**

**(I also absolutely hate the ending of this chapter but hey.)**

**(I should also mention that this has a nod towards 'Violin'. Because I'm running out of ideas.)**

* * *

><p>Sherlock is a hard man to buy gifts for. Whenever he sees something that he wants, he'll buy it without thinking. Anything he likes, he has. Anything he needs, he's got. Whenever John asks what to get him for Christmas, he'd just shrug and say he's not interested in gifts.<p>

It took John weeks to think of something to get him. Where does he even start? What shops could he stick to, and what ones could he rule out? He sat down one evening and set up a list. 'Right.' He said to himself. 'What to get Sherlock for Christmas...' He scribbled down a title. 'What does he like?' He wrote down the word "clothes", and then scribbled it out.

'He's too fussy. His shirts are D&G, for crying out loud.'

Another phrase was added, "easy stuff-aftershave, cologne, etc." He sighed and shook his head, adding a "too boring" next to it.

_"Books?"_ No, too difficult to find something he hasn't read yet.

_"Something to do with his job?" _No, the cold-cases had all already been solved by him, and he didn't like the idea of lugging home a cadaver to be kept in the fridge.

_"Something unusual/different?"_ Huh. That could work out okay. Now, what constitutes "unusual" in Sherlocks case?

* * *

><p>'I really am not interested in Christmas, John. There's no need for all this...gift-giving.'<p>

John finished lighting the fireplace and straightened up. 'Then why did you buy me something?'

'Because you said that it was some sort of "holiday tradition", and who am I to argue with that?'

John rolled his eyes. 'And why aren't you wearing your Christmas jumper Mrs Hudson gave you?'

'Because it's the most revolting thing in the history of the universe, that's why.'

The doctor laughed. 'Wow, you're in a nice mood this evening.' He sat down on the floor by the fireplace and Sherlock glared at him.

'Why are you down there?'

'So you could sit by me.'

'What's wrong with the conventional chair?'

'I don't know. It's friendlier, I guess.'

'We're friends already. What's the point in amping up the friendliness when-'

'Just sit down.'

Sherlock grumbled but did as he was told, tucking his knees up to his chin and wrapping his arms around his shins.

John turned round to reach for his gift for Sherlock. 'Do you want to go first or shall I?' He looked back at him and smiled. 'You're sitting like a child.'

Sherlock dropped his legs. 'Sorry.'

'I wasn't criticizing you, I just thought it looked kind of...'

'Kind of what?'

'Nothing. Do you want to give me your present to me first?'

'Greedy.' Sherlock said, pushing John's Christmas present towards him. He stopped moving when an in-human noise came from across the corridor. '...What was that?'

'What?' John said quickly.

'That noise-it sounded like it was coming from your room.'

'I didn't hear anything. Anyway, presents.'

Sherlock shrugged and handed the poorly-wrapped present to John. The doctor turned it over. '...Oh.'

'I did my best.'

'No, it's fine-I'm proud of you.'

'Don't patronize me.'

John gingerly picked away at the wrapping paper and started giggling. Beneath the paper was a knitted laptop case identical to his favourite oatmeal-coloured jumper. 'Where did you find this?'

'In a shop.'

'I love it!'

'...Really?'

John nodded. 'Of course I do.' He went to hug him and then stopped when Sherlock handed him another gift. 'You got me two things?'

'I did.' Sherlock said. John tutted and the detective sighed. 'Just take it.' John sat back again, taking it. Sherlock looked over at him cautiously, trying to gauge John's reaction. 'It's kind of to go with the previous present.'

John unwrapped it and stared at the dark blue laptop. 'Sherlock!'

'Is it...is it alright?'

'How could you afford this?'

Sherlock scratched the back of his head, looking embarrassed. 'I asked Lestrade to pay me for quite a bit of the cases I did for him.'

John placed the laptop on the ground beside him and wrapped his arms around his friend. 'Thank-you so, so much!'

Sherlock looked slightly taken aback as he awkwardly hugged him back. 'It's okay, you're welcome.'

'I still don't know how you got the money, even from all the cases.'

'Well, I don't have many people to buy presents for.'

'Good point.'

'I... you're still hugging me.'

'Sorry, do you want me to let go?'

'Not really. I'm not usually a fan of human contact, but this is kind of okay.'

'I'm glad. You need your presents now.' John broke away and handed Sherlock a large rectangular box. 'Here you go.'

Sherlock ripped away at the wrapping and opened the box. He went completely silent as he lifted out the sleek white electric violin, his own signature printed in black on one of the edges. '...This...' He managed to say.

John smiled. 'Have I got this right?'

'I don't know what to say.' Sherlock said quietly, turning the instrument over slowly.

'Is that a good thing?'

'I've never had anything so brilliant before.'

'Really?'

Sherlock nodded, affectionately tuning the violin-strings. 'This is so beautiful.'

'Okay, before you impregnate it, I have something else for you.'

'I'm not going to shag the violin-'

'I'll be right back.' John said. 'This is a long-shot and I'm not sure if you'll like it, but...' He went to his room and came back and returned a moment later empty-handed.

Sherlock frowned at him. 'Where's the present?'

'Behind me.'

Sherlock looked past him and melted. The usual serious, annoyed and mature Sherlock had gone completely and was replaced with an excitable six-year old, as a tiny black kitten scampered into the room behind John.

'Oh!' Sherlock gasped as the kitten unsteadily dashed towards him, mewing up at him. 'Hello!' He cooed in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice, picking up the kitten.

'You like him?' John asked Sherlock, sitting back down again.

'He's so lovely!' Sherlock looked at John. 'What's his name?'

'He doesn't have one. He's yours so you name him.'

Sherlock giggled as the kitten gnawed at his fingers. 'Um...Would it be odd to call him Einstein?'

John grinned. 'I like that, actually.'

Einstein clamoured up onto Sherlock's shoulders as the detective spoke to John. 'So, what did you get your girlfriend?'

'Not much. Nothing like what I spent on you.'

Sherlock scratched the back of Einstein's neck. 'You spent more money on me than you did on your girlfriend.'

'Mm.'

'That sounds...well, that says something.'

'What does it say?'

'...Well, it sounds like you care about me than you do for her.'

'Yeah it does.' John said flatly, looking at him dead in the eye. Sherlock looked back at him. Einstein mewed in-between them and pranced out of Sherlock's hand, exploring the room and leaving the two men to have a spontaneous staring contest.

'...John,' Sherlock said, leaning back, 'what's happened to your girlfriend?'

'Nothing, she's fine.'

'I know, I didn't think you'd killed her. You're not together anymore though.'

'How did your know?'

'It's my job.'

John sighed. 'Yeah, okay, I dumped her after I gave her her Christmas present.'

'Am I allowed to ask why?' Sherlock asked as Einstein scampered back towards him to be stroked.

'I'd rather not say, but trust me, it was a good reason.'

Sherlock glanced down at Einstein, stroking his back until he rested onto the floor and started purring happily. 'You sure?'

'Yes.'

'Are you upset?'

'Not really.'

'You are allowed to be.'

John rolled his eyes. 'No, you don't understand-I wanted to break up with her, and to be honest, she's seemed kind of alright with it too.'

'Huh. Okay then.' Sherlock said, and then looked at him with wide eyes. 'Oh.'

'And then he gets it.'

'It's because of me, isn't it?'

'And the great Sherlock Holmes finally understands what the Hell's going on.'

'I...' Sherlock frowned. 'Does your girlfriend fancy me?'

John's shoulders sagged. 'Well, never mind, eh.'

'I didn't think she liked me at all.'

John put his head in his hands. 'Sherlock...'

'I've only met her a few times, and I've hardly spoken to her on those occasions.'

'Okay, so, out of the two people in that relationship, who is more likely to fancy you?'

'Well, you, but...' Sherlock looked away, looked back at him and then raised his head in realization. 'Oh.'


	46. Talking (RATED M)

**WARNING! RATED M STORY!**

**Okay. This is the thing.**

**I really, really am struggling on part 2 of 'Let's have Dinner'. I don't know if I'm ever going to finish it :S Sorry! I'll try! **

**As a little apology thing, here. Have this. Here's a rated M story for you smut-lovers! :D This was originally written as a birthday present for my lovely, lovely friend Grace. **

**Once again, sorry about 'Let's have Dinner.' I'll try again soon!**

* * *

><p>Talking to Sherlock about anything that doesn't interest him can be a tad tricky. He's the kind of person to not exactly keep his opinions to himself like an ordinary person, especially when he finds it something boring and not worth his time. Normally, when John had to talk to him, he'd just keep it to himself.<p>

But this time was different.

This time he had, had, had to speak to him.

Now, don't get him wrong, he tried to catch up and speak with him whenever he could, but they would always get distracted by something stupid and insignificant. They never got back to the conversation once they had been interrupted.

He's left this late now-late and tricky to speak with him. Not only late in the course of events, but also late in the day. Sherlock had already had gone to bed by the time John had worked himself up to open his mouth. He spent ten minutes sitting back with his hands clasped in front of his mouth, trying to form his thoughts into words. He eventually got up and walked across the corridor, stopping in front of Sherlock's bedroom door.

'Sherlock?' He gingerly knocked on the door. 'Are you still awake?' After a few moments of silence, he pushed open the door. Sherlock was only just visible in the light of the drawn curtains. His suit was still on and his head was tilted away from the door, one hand on his chest and snoring quietly. John smiled-wow, he really was tired. '...Sherlock?'

Sherlock shuffled in his sleep, turned over and his eyes fluttered open. He looked alarmed when he saw John, sitting up automatically. 'Oh God!'

John held his hands out. 'It's okay Sherlock, it's me, it's John.'

Sherlock looked at him for a while before relaxing again. 'John.'

'I'm sorry, I'll come back later.'

'No, no-it's fine.' Sherlock sat up. 'I'm awake.' John nodded and looked at the floor. Sherlock frowned. 'What's wrong?'

John opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. 'Can I talk to you?'

Sherlock raised his eyebrow, not like John could see anyway. 'Why?'

'Please?'

Sherlock shrugged and switched on the beside light, filling the room with a dim orange glow. 'Is everything okay?'

John sat on the bed beside him as Sherlock swung his legs over the side over the bed.

John hesitated. 'I, uh...'

'Tell me.'

'This is tricky, alright?' The doctor took a few breaths. 'It's about Mary.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'What about her?'

'She's...she keeps dropping hints of me and her getting engaged.'

That got the detective's attention. 'What?'

'Yeah.'

Sherlock sighed and looked at the floor. 'Are you going to?'

'I don't know, that's not the important bit.'

'It sounds pretty important.'

John looked away, twisting and untwisting his hands. 'The important bit is that if I and she get engaged, then I'll have to move out.'

'No you don't.'

John looked up at him. 'Sherlock, I have to-we can't stay in the flat with you, it's not right.'

'You don't have to move.'

'I do, it's just how it works.'

'I'll move.'

John blinked at him. '...What?'

Sherlock looked at the floor. 'You two can keep the flat. I'll move.'

The doctor's shoulders sagged. '...That's so kind of you.'

Sherlock shrugged. 'It's fine.'

'But I couldn't do that to you; this is your home, and anyway, you've lived here longer than I have.'

'It doesn't make a difference to me where I live, as long as I'm comfortable.'

'Sherlock,' John said, shaking his head, 'I honestly couldn't do that to you. Taking Sherlock Holmes out of Baker Street would be like taking a fish out of water.'

Sherlock went silent as they both looked at the ground for a long time. '...Do you love Mary?' John looked at him. 'You don't have to answer, I'm just curious.'

'No, it's fine. I thought I did, but...' He scratched the back of his head. 'I feel slightly pressured to marry her now. I don't know-maybe I'm just being too sensitive.' He swallowed and licked his lips. 'It's tricky, you know? Working out if you actually love someone or not.'

Sherlock rested his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands, starting to tire of this conversation. 'Is it?'

'Yeah, you know how it is...well, maybe you don't, but still.' John leaned back on his hands. 'Because, seriously, loving someone is difficult.'

Sherlock fought back a yawn. 'Is it?' He said again.

'Mm. Like, if you've ever been in love then you know what I mean-it kind of hurts. Especially when you think the other person doesn't love you back.'

'Fascinating.'

'I mean, the torn-apart feeling is bad enough, but for some reason, you almost keep wanting to be torn apart again and again just so you can have all the positives. Like...like when they walk into the room and you know it's them without having to look up, and when you do, you can't help that little stomach-flip you get.' John said. Sherlock went still as the doctor continued. 'And when you wait for them to come back home wherever they might be, even if they're not coming back for days. Or when they're not there, but you pretend that they are and talk to them in your head, or sometimes out loud.' Sherlock raised his head, eyes darting around the room as John continued. 'And, even if they do the most ridiculous things and really get on your nerves all the time, you'll still love them. Hell, they could hold a gun to your head and you'll still trust them not to pull the trigger.'

The detective moved his head as if in slow-motion, looking at John. '...I...'

'And there are times when you're on your own with them, and it feels like you don't need anyone, or anything else to be happy.' John sighed. 'Sometimes it's tricky to work out if it's just friends-love or...you know, love-love. But there's always that one thing that tells you that you really, really love them-it's different with anyone, I guess it could be as simple as them just putting up with you, or something amazing, like them saving your life even when you've barely known each other a week.' He looked back at Sherlock and frowned slightly when he saw him staring intently. 'Are you okay?'

'I don't know.'

'Anyway, as I was saying, I might move out soon, so-'

'You can't marry her.'

'W...what?'

'I understand if you do, but please,' Sherlock's brow furrowed slightly, 'you...just can't marry her.'

John closed his eyes for a second and then opened them slowly. 'What? Why are you suddenly so eager to stop me?'

'I can't say, but just trust me on this.'

'No, just tell me now. This is about my future wife, so just tell me what's going on.'

Sherlock rubbed his eyes. 'I really can't say.'

'What has she done? Is she seeing someone else?'

'No, I'm just saying that-'

'What's got into you? Five minutes ago you couldn't care less!'

Sherlock lost it and stood up, towering over John. 'Okay, you want me to say it? You want me to admit that I love you? There you go, I've said it now-are you happy? I have never loved anyone in my life before you; in fact, I barely knew what love _was_ before you. And now you're going to get married and I can't deal with losing-' he gave up the rest of his sentence, knocking over the pile of books on his bedside over with the swipe of his arm, turning to leave the room.

John stood up. 'Sherlock!'

Sherlock whipped round to look at him. 'Just forget it, okay!' He shouted. 'It never even mattered to me anyway-just another stupid, stupid obstacle distracting from my work.'

'Oh, is that what I am to you now, a distraction?!'

'Why? What will you do if I said that you were? Do what you were going to do anyway and leave me?' He was about to turn round but changed his mind, not finished yet. 'You know what? I wish I'd never met you, John!'

'You don't mean that!'

'What have I got to lose now? I've told you what I think and now you're leaving me-once you've left it'll be like we've never met and that's just as well, because I know you want to forget me-'

John's fist connected with Sherlock's cheek hard, sending the detective's head spinning round, mouth open. They both went silent, before John said a very quiet, very stern, 'don't you dare ever say that to me again.'

Sherlock rolled his jaw, tasting blood. 'Are you telling me that it's not true?'

'That's exactly what I'm telling you.'

Sherlock put his finger and thumb in his mouth, checking to see if his tooth wasn't knocked loose. 'You sure about that?' He mumbled.

'Of course I am.' John said, and then tilted his head. 'Is your tooth okay?'

Sherlock took his finger and thumb away. 'It's fine.' He said, despite the trail of blood left on his finger.

John shook his head. 'No you're not, let me see.' He said, stepping towards him with one hand raised.

Sherlock stepped away. 'I'm fine, really. I deserved it anyway.'

'Yeah, you did.'

Sherlock gave John a sideways look. 'I'm sorry.'

'For what?'

'For saying all that shit about you.'

'Yeah, whatever. Just sit down so I can look at you.'

Sherlock reluctantly sat back down on the bed as John left the room for a moment and then came back with a tissue and a damp flannel, sitting down next to him. He held out the tissue. 'Hold that in your mouth for a minute.'

The detective did as he was told as John dabbed at the cut on Sherlock's cheek from where he had hit him. 'So, you don't love me back then.'

John stilled. 'What makes you say that?'

'You hit my teeth. Remember what Irene Adler said when we first met her?'

John thought back and smiled, moving his hand again. 'Well if you're going to get love advice from a criminal sex worker then you have a problem.'

Sherlock laughed, bringing the tissue out of his mouth. 'I've stopped bleeding.'

'Ah, good. Turn your head a little bit.' Sherlock turned his head. 'There-at least it won't get infected.'

'Thank-you.'

'Why would you be thanking me when I was the one who hit you in the first place?'

'I don't know. I just felt like saying it.'

John chuckled. 'You're a funny thing.' He placed the flannel and the tissue on the side and Sherlock went to stand up. 'Where are you going?'

'I thought I'd give you some space.'

'I don't want any space.'

'We just had the most mental argument in the history of mental arguments; I thought you'd want some time to yourself.'

'No.'

'Oh.' Sherlock awkwardly sat back down again. 'Are we going to "have a chat"?'

'Yes.'

'I hate those.'

'I'm sure you'll cope just fine.' John took a deep breath. 'Okay, first thing's first, do you genuinely love me?'

Sherlock nodded. 'Yes.'

John nodded as well. 'Okay.' He said quietly.

'Sorry.'

'Don't apologize.' John said. He rubbed his eyes with one hand. 'Why didn't you tell me this before?'

'To be honest, I didn't know what I was feeling before today. I knew it hurt whenever I saw you with Mary, but...' Sherlock shrugged. 'I don't know.'

'Right.' John said, before holding up one finger. 'Okay, I'm gonna to say this...' He awkwardly waved his hands around, trying to think of the right words. 'Do you love, love me, or do you just...' He frowned to himself. '...Fantasize about me?'

'Both.'

John's mouth fell open slightly, inhaling deeply and raising his head. 'Yup. Okay.'

'And now you're imagining what I fantasize about.'

'Correct.' John shook his head. 'No. Wait. Shut up. This isn't what I wanted to talk about.'

'But now you're curious.'

John looked away. 'No.'

'You are.' Sherlock sang.

'Slightly.'

There was a pause before Sherlock said a quiet, 'do you love me?'

'You should probably put a plaster on that cut, or something so it's-'

Sherlock put a hand on the doctor's shoulder. 'John.'

John looked at him for a long time before staring at the floor and oh-so-slightly nodding. Sherlock went silent, holding a fist over his mouth. '...Did you know before Mary was involved in all this?'

'Yes.'

Sherlock frowned. 'Then why did you become her boyfriend?'

'I don't know-I guess it would sort of distract me from...from...'

'From me.'

'Yeah. I mean, you're Sherlock Holmes the untouchable-I didn't think you were remotely interested in me.'

'Ah.'

'I never wanted anything serious with Mary. I just needed a break, you know?'

'I know.'

'And now she wants to get engaged, but you've just said that you love me, and,' he rubbed his eye. 'Loving you is like poison, and I think it'll kill me if I don't do anything about it.'

'Just do whatever you want to, ignore what I want.'

John's brow furrowed. 'That's the most selfless thing I've ever heard you say.'

'I'm full of surprises today.'

John found himself smiling. He glanced at the hand still on his shoulder and slowly slid a hand onto Sherlock's knee.

Sherlock looked down at his knee. 'It feels good to be close to you like this.' He muttered.

John hesitantly tugged on Sherlock's shirt so he was closer to him, moving his arm so it snaked round his neck. He tilted his head and then stopped. 'Mary.' He looked at him. 'I can't kiss you-I couldn't deal with the guilt.'

'I didn't expect you to.'

John raised an eyebrow. 'With my mouth about four centimetres away from yours?'

'...Okay, maybe I was expecting it a bit.'

John laughed airily, before becoming serious again, half-lidded eyes staring down at Sherlock's mouth. He moved his head oh-so-slightly forward and their lips brushed. Sherlock sighed, turning his head to do it again. They knew they couldn't kiss. This would be as close as they could without John becoming unfaithful. All they could do was let their lips play off each other with their mouths opening and closing slightly as if they really were kissing. Sherlock cupped the back of John's head and gently bit the doctor's lip. John shuddered and purposefully fell back so he was lying flat on the bed, pulling Sherlock to lie on top of him. The detective splayed one hand on the bed-sheets above John's ear, nuzzling at the shorter man's neck. John arched his neck as Sherlock's bottom lip brushed against it. He moved his head to plant the smallest kisses on the corners of John's mouth, making him sigh and wrap his hand around Sherlock's forearm.

'I love you so much...' John whispered as Sherlock pressed his forehead against his. The doctor's fingers traced over the top of Sherlock's chest up to his neck and then down again, Sherlock shivering above him. The detective dipped his head to brush lips with him again before trailing kisses across the outline of John's jaw. John bit his lip as Sherlock moved on to nibble gently at his ear. Eventually he rolled off him to lie by his side, both of them staring at the ceiling and breathing deeply.

'...You shouldn't listen to me.' Sherlock said. 'You should marry her if you want to.'

John shook his head. 'I couldn't do that. Even if I did, you know what would happen.' Sherlock looked at him. 'I'd end up thinking about you whenever we fell asleep together, spent the night with each other, kissed each other. Eventually it would be too much for me to take and you'll be opening the door in the middle of the night to me, desperate to see you. Then we'll make it up to your room and be unfaithful to Mary over and over and over again.' John's eyes fluttered shut. 'Even now, I'm lying right next to you and imagining what it would be like to kiss you. God, I'm a terrible partner.'

'No.' Sherlock said and John blinked at him. 'You're human. You thought you were doing something for the best and now you're thinking of yourself and what you want.'

John looked away. 'I don't know anymore. I don't know what I'm meant to do to keep everyone happy...to be honest, if I have doubts about my relationship then that's not good.'

'Mm.' Sherlock rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow and slowly ran two fingers up and down John's side. 'You do what you want-if that means getting married, then that's fine. If that means breaking up with Mary, then that's fine.'

John fixed his eyes onto him, raising his hand to lazily stroke the taller man's arm. 'You know what I want.'

Sherlock tilted his head, biting his lip slightly. 'I should go-I'll end up kissing you and...Other things.' Sherlock went to leave before John pulled him back down so he was on top of him again.

He raised his hand to press it against Sherlock's back. 'Don't go.'

Sherlock looked back down at him, the temptation becoming too much. He hesitantly brushed his thumb over John's cheek-bone, dipping his head and brushing lips with him. John leaned in and kissed him properly, wrapping both arms around his neck. He heard Sherlock sigh in his mouth-this was perfection. This was pure, pure perfection, finally being able to kiss this man after months, or even years of indecision, waiting, denying himself from it. John felt slightly dizzy with how good this felt, but before he could get his head in check, Sherlock had moved on to his neck, licking, nipping and grazing his teeth over it until it was decorated in red signatures. John silently turned his head, offering the other side of his neck to be bitten and kissed. Sherlock complied and John let out a shuddered sigh beneath him.

'We shouldn't be doing this...'

John felt Sherlock's long eyelashes flutter over his throat. 'Then stop me.'

John ignored him and propped himself on his elbows, bringing his lips up to kiss him. His tongue slipped into Sherlock's mouth, flicking up to touch the roof of it. He rolled him over so he was straddling the detective, their kisses becoming more heated. He softly bit his ear, before dragging his lips over his throat and nipping at his collar-bone. Sherlock had become bone-less against him, dropping his arms so his hands lay parallel to his ears. John paused for a moment, his hands stilling over the detective's jacket buttons. Before John could ask, Sherlock nodded at him to continue. John slowly, far too slowly, unbuttoned the taller man's jacket. He un-tucked Sherlock's shirt, unbuttoning it, planting kisses where each button once was. When he got to the end, he ran both hands up Sherlock's chest, pushing the unfastened shirt out of the way and looking at him up and down. At that point, he couldn't stop his hands from roaming across the plains of his chest, wanting to touch, to remember every millimetre of skin.

'You're so perfect...' He murmured, nuzzling the light dusting of chest hair. Sherlock sighed, his eyes closing with satisfaction. John lips moved over to graze over Sherlock's left nipple, letting himself start to lick, suck, bite it softly. Sherlock's brain short-circuited as he let a low moan escape from his throat. John lapped against him, marvelling at what different mutters and moans of pleasure he could get out of him. He reached out his hand to run it through Sherlock's hair, tugging at it gently, as he moved his head to circle his tongue over the other nipple. Sherlock bent one of his knees beside John, teeth digging into his bottom lip. John sat up after a while, tugging off his own shirt and throwing it onto the floor. Sherlock sat up as well to lock lips with him again, finger-nails dragging across John's arms and leaving white trails behind. John gasped in Sherlock's mouth, his mouth still hanging open and head tipped back when Sherlock's tongue ran over the sensitive skin on his scar. He squirmed slightly and accidently ground their erections together. They both groaned loudly, Sherlock screwing up his eyes and mouthing, '_fuck_' into John's neck whilst John's head rolled back in silent exclamation. Sherlock pulled off his jacket and shirt the rest of the way so it pooled to the floor. John pressed their lips together, his hand wandering down to feel Sherlock through his trousers, receiving a long moan and a shudder as a reward. John gently pushed him back so he was lying down again and started trailing kisses across his chest, getting closer to where Sherlock wanted him most with each kiss. Eventually he reached the detective's waist-band, dragging the back of his nails over it and getting another sigh out of the other man. After dis-guarding Sherlock's shoes and socks, John made quick work of his belt, sliding down his trousers and tossing them aside. Sherlock waited. And waited. It took another age before he finally felt John's lips brush against his leg, trailing kisses up to his inner thigh.

'John...' John reached his boxers, touching Sherlock's erection with his nose. He glanced up at the detective as his tongue slid out and touched Sherlock's arousal. Sherlock growled, hips rolling into the bed-spread. John opened his mouth, sucking at his boxers. Sherlock groaned and unconsciously bucked, but John raised his head before Sherlock's pelvis hit him. 'John, you...I need you...'

John smiled. 'I know.' His thumb started circling the clothed head. 'I just like seeing you squirm.'

Sherlock clapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself crying out, his legs starting to shake. John's hand moved up to palm him through his boxers and Sherlock couldn't stop the moan from escaping his mouth. John raised his head, tugging Sherlock's boxers down, his erection springing free. The doctor stared at him, mouth starting to water. Before he even knew what he was doing, the shorter man had lowered his mouth, wrapping his lips around him. Sherlock's own mouth got wider and wider each time John took more of him in. Eventually, the doctor's nose hit Sherlock's pelvis and the detective released the breath he'd been holding in. 'Oh my God...' John hummed around him, the vibrations causing Sherlock's chest to spark and start a fire in his abdomen. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as John's cheeks hollowed around his length, starting to flick his tongue around it as he worked up and down. Sherlock's back had arched and one hand had balled up the bed-sheet, murmuring nonsense to himself. John brought him out of his mouth, focussing on licking him from base to tip, and then back down again. Sherlock let out a high-pitched shuddering groan, his other hand unconsciously clutching John's hair. 'Fucking hell, John...' He bucked without realising what he was doing, screwing up his eyes. 'Ah...That is...' John's mouth wrapped around him again and the taller man's groans became louder and more breathless. His head was spinning and his abdomen ached as John worked faster, both eyes locked onto the other man's. Sherlock stared back with wide eyes. 'I can't last...I can't last like this...' He bucked into John's mouth. 'Fuck...I'm gonna...'

John raised his head for a moment. 'Hold it.'

Sherlock stared at him, his hair sticking to his forehead. 'What!?'

The doctor crawled up so he was lying directly on top of him again. 'I don't want this to end yet.' He muttered, knotting his fingers through his hair and kissing his jaw.

'It will be soon if you carry on like this.'

John smirked and sat up, kicking off his shoes and socks while Sherlock unbuckled his belt for him. The shorter man shucked off his trousers and boxers the rest of the way, letting them fall to the floor. Sherlock's hand slipped between them, wrapping around John's length. John groaned and bucked around Sherlock's fingers. 'Shit...' Without thinking, he pressed his erection against Sherlock's and both men went completely silent, both of their minds almost shutting down entirely.

'Oh God...' Sherlock whispered. 'Oh God, oh God, oh God...' He gabbled. John propped himself up on his hands positioned either side of the darker-haired man's head and slowly, achingly slowly, started rutting against him, gasping against Sherlock's neck.

'Are you...are you alright?' John panted. Sherlock nodded, lips pursed and John rutted faster. The rest of the world seemed to deteriorate around them, their erratic groans and pants filling the room and intoxicating them. Sherlock rocked against him for more contact as John's moans grew louder, the noise of them going straight to the detective's groin. He pulled him closer for a long, untidy, desperate kiss as his finger-nails left long scratches down the doctor's back. John's head slipped down to rest on Sherlock's neck, biting it softly. Sherlock arched his back, his mouth hanging open.

'John, please...' He stopped mid-sentence to let out a long groan from the back of his throat. 'I can't last...I'm gonna come...'

'I told you to...to hold it!' John growled.

Sherlock shoved his knuckle in between his teeth as he squirmed beneath. 'John...' He mumbled. 'John, please...ah...' Pre-cum started to leak from his achingly hard erection, soaking his and John's chests. 'Oh God...Please let me...'

John crushed their arousals together, practically shouting at how fucking amazing it felt. 'Don't you _dare!_'

Sherlock raked a hand through his hair while he bit down harder on his knuckle. Above him, John had gone almost insane, crushing their erections over and over again before staring down at him. 'I'm gonna...' His eyes widened. 'God...come for me, Sherlock...'

Sherlock threw his head back and almost screamed the house down, a hundred groans and moans tumbling from his mouth as his orgasm crashed through him over and over again. He vaguely heard John call out his name a few seconds after him, his whole body tensing up. And then there was silence. John collapsed against Sherlock's stomach before rolling off him, both of them staring up at the ceiling while their heads tried to piece themselves back together. They stayed still for what felt like a lifetime, before John clapped a hand over his mouth.

'Mary...' He looked at Sherlock and then rubbed his eyes. 'Shit, what have I done...?' He sat up, shaking his head. 'We've just...' He stood up, throwing on his boxers and leaving the room.


	47. Mourning

**Okay, hello. I came back. **

**Sorry that I haven't updated in seven hundred and fifty years. I have a new laptop, ya see. Which means that I no longer have word D: **

**Updating might be a bit difficult from now on (unless you know of any places where I can get Word for free) since I no longer have spell check and all that jazz. **

**Because of this, this story is probably very grammatically incorrect. Forgive me.**

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><p>'This is going to be surreal.'<p>

Sherlock blinked out of his thoughts and looked over at John from his seat in the taxi. 'I'm sorry?'

John looked back at him. 'I said that this is going to be surreal for you.'

'I'll be fine.'

'I know-but most normal people would find visiting their own grave to be a bit harrowing.'

'We're not visiting my grave. Not really.'

'Yes, we're going to...' John frowned. 'What exactly are we going to do once we're there?'

Sherlock looked away. 'I don't know. I can't just do nothing though. I'm not exactly fond of still having a grave-stone with my name on it.'

'True.'

'When I actually do die, the under-takers are going to be slightly confused when they find another grave-stone already for me.'

John shrugged. 'They could just think there are two Sherlock's.'

Sherlock smiled and rolled his eyes. 'I think my name's too unusual to get away with that. How many other Sherlock's do you think there are in the world?'  
>'You never know- there might be a whole cult of them.' John said, and then pretended to shudder. 'Oh God, thousands of Sherlock's.'<p>

The detective chuckled. 'Charming.'

'Always.' John tilted his head at him. 'Are you okay?'

'I'm grand. Don't worry about me.'

'Good man.' The taxi stopped suddenly and John paid before he and Sherlock shuffled out of it. Despite it being the middle of spring, the cemetery had a fine layer of snow dusted over it. At least it wasn't too cold or icy, John thought, speculating it quietly to Sherlock in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Sherlock looked slightly lost as they both stepped into the grounds. 'Where...?'

John looked at him. 'Don't you know where your own grave is?'

'It's been three years since I was last here, I'm allowed to forget.'

John smiled. 'This way.' He walked in front, leading the way towards the empty grave. As soon as he was in front of it, he unconsciously ducked down, wiping snow from the top of it, throwing away the remains of dead flowers, pulling over-grown grass away from it.

Sherlock blinked at him. 'John.'

'Give me a sec.'

He put a hand on his shoulder, making him look up at him. 'I am here, remember? I'm not underneath that.'

John looked at the ground. 'I still want to make it look good.'

'You don't have to. It doesn't matter anymore.'

John paused for a few seconds, before rising to his feet again. 'Sorry. Old habits die hard, I guess.'

'Did you visit...me often?'

John nodded. 'Almost every week. Sometimes I would bring flowers, other times I didn't.'

Sherlock slipped his hands in his coat pockets. 'What kind?'

'Tulips. Why?'

'Just curious.'

There was a pause, before John spoke up. 'What do you think of your gravestone?' Sherlock raised his eyebrow at him and the doctor tried to explain himself. 'I wasn't sure of it when it was first ordered.'

'I...I like it.'

'You hate it, don't you?'

'No, no, I don't. I like the colour.'

'I thought you would.'

Sherlock sniffed and tilted his head. 'It's a bit...blank.'

'I didn't know what else to put on it apart from your name.'

'Clearly. Was it your idea for the gold lettering?'

'It was Mycroft's, actually.'

'Ah.'

'...What do we do with it?'

'I don't know. We can't exactly dig it up and run away with it.'

'No, not really. We could speak to the office about it.'

'Yeah, that would go well.'

'Good point. I'll ring Mycroft when we get back, he'll sort something out.'

'Mm.' Sherlock murmured, starting to wander off as he grew tired of the conversation. John waited until the detective wasn't looking, before finishing tidying up the grave.  
>Sherlock walked his way up and down the rows of names whom he didn't recognize Being at one with the dead seemed to calm him down in an odd sort of way. It gave him some sort of peace, being away from the living. The dead generally aren't known for being disruptive or loud, he mused. He walked by another lot of graves before stopping and walking backwards to stand in front of one whose stone couldn't have been any more than a year old. John's voice sounded distant as he approached him.<p>

'There you are. You like to wander off, don't you?' Sherlock didn't look at him, his voice unable to get out.

John frowned. 'What's wrong?'

Sherlock's eyes stayed fixed downwards. John followed his gaze, reading the gravestone they were standing in front of.

_ "In memory of Matilda Rose Holmes _

_Died February 28th 2013, aged 84 _

_Devoted mother and loving wife."_

The doctor shook his head and swore quietly. 'I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I thought Mycroft would've told you.'

'He didn't.' Sherlock bit his lip, absolutely no expression on his face. '...Was it horrible?'

'I wasn't told much about it, if I'm honest, but no. She just, I know it sounds cheesy, but she just went to sleep and didn't wake up again.'

Sherlock nodded slightly. 'Okay.'

'She passed away a year and a bit after you disappeared.'

'Did you go to her funeral?'

'I wasn't invited.' John spoke softly. 'I never even met her, I only knew about it when friends of the Holmes family tried to get in touch with you.'

'Did she...was she told about my death?'

'I don't know. I didn't tell her, and Mycroft never mentioned it.'

There was a moment of silence before Sherlock cracked an unexpected smile. 'I wish you had met her, John. She was such a strong individual, I mean really, fiercely independant.'

John smiled sadly at the side of Sherlock's head. 'Yeah?'

'I remember coming home caked in mud when I was a kid. I wasn't allowed in until I counted every blade of grass in our garden as a punishment. She was sharp as well, sharper than me now. She was able to tell anyone's job and rank from a mile off. A lot of people assume that Mycroft and I got our deductive ways from our father, but it was from our mother's side as well.'

'I didn't think you were that close to her.'

'We sort of lost contacted once I left home. Neither of us wanted to be the first one to pick up the phone, I suppose.'

John nodded. '...What happened to your father?'

Sherlock went quiet for a moment. 'He had the head job in the British government Smart, quick-witted, enough money to burn.' He tilted his head. 'Without him, my mother had nothing. She had a job as a nurse but that didn't pay enough to support two children.'

'I understand.'

'He was also hot-tempered, violent and controlling. Mycroft was never on the receiving end of father's sharp tongue, but myself and mother were. He would always find something that we weren't doing quite the way he liked, just so he could punish us for it.' He looked at John. 'Put your hand underneath my coat.'

John blinked. 'Why?'

'I'm trying to show you something.' The doctor hesitated, before awkwardly doing as he was told. Sherlock turned his head to the side, looking at the ground again. 'Can you slip your hand underneath my jacket as well?'

John swallowed. 'Uh...'

'Just for a second.'

John shuffled a little, gently placing his hand on the back of Sherlock's shirt.

'Feel that?'

John shook his head. 'No.'

'Hold on, let me just-' Sherlock reached behind him, directing John's arm to the right place, his eyes looking at nothing as he tried to focus. 'Now?'

John's finger-tips brushed over a series of long bumps across the small of Sherlock's back. 'Ah.'

'Those are scars.'

John raised his eyebrows. 'All of them?'

'Like I said, my father had a bad temper and a heavy belt. They've never healed.'

'Why didn't Mycroft get any of this?'

Sherlock pursed his lips. 'My parents argued almost every day. I took my mothers side whereas he always took father's. He obviously knew what he was doing.'

John drew his hand away. 'What do you mean?'

'When he came of age, Mycroft inherited father's job and estate. That's what you get for being daddy's favorite.'

'I see.'

'Even when father was at his angriest, mummy-' Sherlock swallowed, '...mother would always do her best to protect me.'

They stood in silence, before John broke it. 'You're allowed to be upset.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'I'm fine. She was just another ordinary human who I happened to be related to.'  
>John sighed inwardly as they both went quiet again. He raised his head when he saw Sherlock's expression change in the corner of his eye. He looked at the detectives furrowed brow and glassy eyes. 'Sherlock?' He put a hand on his shoulder. Sherlock instantly burst into tears, desperately clinging onto him. John stumbled back slightly, before raising his arms to wrap them around Sherlock's back. 'It's okay.' He said softly. 'I'm here.'<p>

'Why did she have to die?!'

'I know, I know.'

'I wasn't there...' Sherlock's sobs grew louder. '_I wasn't even there!_'

'You didn't know this was going to happen, it's not your fault.'

'I wasn't there...' The detective repeated.

John hugged him tighter. 'Sh, sh. It's okay, you're going to be okay.'

'It isn't, she's _dead!_' Sherlock managed to say between gasps.

'I know, and I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.'

'It's not fair...I wasn't ready yet...'

John shushed him again. 'I'm here. John's here for you.'

They stayed still with their arms wrapped around eachother, letting the snow fall around them.


	48. Do you Recognize Me?

**It's been a while. Sorry and all that. I'm currently writing a very long smut story, so look forward to that.**

**I'm kinda experimenting with a new writing style, since I NEVER use first person...stuff. So, this is my first time in first person writing. It's really short but hey.**

**Kind of a sad one this time :O Trigger warnings with suicide and...sadness involved. **

**Consider this a drabble set after the fall.**

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><p>The doorbell never rings any more.<p>

I have no visitors, no post, no deliveries, nothing. I am cut off from the rest of London. That's okay-I like it this way. The rest of the planet does not need me and I do not need them; this is an unspoken truth. I live in a comfortable silence in which does not need to be disturbed.

I do not wish to be a bother to other people just because I am lonely. I have told myself that I shouldn't kick up a fuss that doesn't need to be known of by others. I've reminded myself that I am perfectly fine alone. Safe.

I have lived like this before and I promised myself that I wouldn't have to do it again. I'm sorry, past-self; looks like I lied to you.

I feel nothing. I am no longer a human being. I am a shell that stands and eats and sleeps but does not talk to anoyone. I have lost all company and not invited it back. What's the point? People only last for so long.

Suicide has crossed my mind once or twice. I am not fixated on the idea of taking my own life, yet it still doesn't stop me from considering it. I see no value in my life any more. I see nothing of importance any more. It is empty. It is alone. It is nothing. I don't need to exist any more, and yet, I have no desire to die. This is what I have become. And I can no longer escape.

From the way that I see it, I am beyond any help. Not because I am too beyond hope, or anything like that. It's simply because I know exactly what the counsellor, or physiologist, or whatever, would say. They would make me want to explain everything, every detail, every moment me and...him went through.

God, listen to me. I can't even say his name any more. What the hell have I become? A silent, strange, empty wreck that can't even think back out of fear of losing everything my sanity still has.

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><p>The nightmares came back last night. They used to be kinder to me than they are now. At least when I used to dream of Afghanistan, I could understand what was real and what was just my head making things up-with these dreams now, I can't do that. I can't see the difference. Because I didn't see the reality. I saw only half of the real thing, because I wasn't with him. And it should have been me.<p>

It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me. It should have been me.

I can't do this. I want to see him again. Please God, just let me see him. I don't care any more, just give me this. Please. I'm sitting down with nothing on my mind and empty hands and then suddenly I have my gun in my hand and it's fits so perfectly and it's so cold but it feels like it should be there and I can't bring myself to put it down and I want what I think is about to happen and I just want to see him and there are no such things as miracles there is only honest harsh truth that cuts your skin and bruises your back until you can't walk and I want to escape so I do what I want to and I raise the gun to my head without a second thought without any thought without feeling without anything left in me because I have nothing left in me and my finger's on the trigger and I want to be with him and I want this so please let me have it.

And then there are two hands on my shoulders and there's a man in front of my eyes but I can't see him because my eyes can't seem to focus. My ears can't hear, my tongue can't form words and my hands feel nothing. But my legs are still upright and I am still alive. I am still breathing. The man in front of me is saying something which I believe is my name, although I haven't heard it in a long time. My hearing slowly returns out of its trance and he is crying and repeating my name and his hands have knocked the gun away from mine. I look at him but I don't understand what I can see. All I see is a tear-stained face which seems blurred. I don't understand why he's apologizing to me because he's done nothing. Do I even know him? Who is he? I try and ask but my mouth is numb and I can not find the words to even try to. The man has dropped to his knees and he's wrapped his arms around my legs and his forehead is resting on my thigh and I can feel his tears through my jeans. All I can do is stand in silence, without emotion. I can hear properly now. I can hear the lump in his throat and his voice crack as he speaks in noises I still don't understand. One arm leaves my legs and grabs my hand and he kisses it countless amounts of times. I don't protest. I stay still. The noises I hear are now becoming words in my head. The words seem slow and the voice doesn't match the speaker and my eyes still are unable to focus.

My hand shakes when I rest it on his head to feel his hair. His hair. It curls over my hand and my fingers get lost in it. I move my hand and run it over his fringe and now he's staring up at me and his voice seems closer to reality. He's asking if I know who he is. I can do nothing but shake my head only a fraction and his voice sounds more desperate as he gives me his hand and asks me if I recognize it. I twist each finger with mine, noting how much bigger his hand is against mine. I realize how long his fingers are. He must play the piano, or the guitar, or the violin. Before I can utter my questions out his hand slips away and is replaced by a chunk of coarse fabric. He's asking again if I recognize this and I trace its outline. I can't pick it up because he's still wearing it. Its corners are harsh so I assume that it's an up-turned collar. I want to know why he's doing this and why his appearance is important to me, but the collar slips away from me and my hand is empty. There is a shuffle and my hand is full with a bolt of material that he must have just pulled off him. He loops it over my fingers and closes my hand over it, kissing my knuckles. I run it through both of my hands, twisting it over. This is a scarf, I think. I demand my eyes to focus on it. Its colour bursts through my eye-lids and I can finally see clearly. I string it through my fists, pulling the pieces of this man together. I look past the scarf to look up at the door with now has a crack down the centre of it, the hinges bent out of place. His voice echoes through my head and I can't hear anything else but him.

'John, do you know who I am?'

I look down at his face and he can tell that I recognize him because his eyes light up. I can see him. I can see something that can't be real but I don't care any more. I don't care if he's not real. He's here and that's all I care about. I manage a nod and he starts crying all over again. He's apologizing again but now I understand why. I can't move my legs but I can move my hand as I cup his face and stare down at him. My mouth can finally move and I can just about stutter out one word.

'...Alive?'

He nods furiously and confirms that he is over and over again. I don't think that I believe him. But I don't mind either way. I just want him to be here with me. I don't care if my head's just making all this up. I just want to be with him.


	49. Frustration (RATED M)

**Okay, it's three in the morning, but I really wanted to get this story published before I passed out. Its sucks, but it's rated M, so hey.**

**Sidenote-Sorry for neglecting you guys-I moved house and stuff. Oh, and someone asked me if I would do a part two to 'Do you recognize Me?' I'll see what I can do with that.**

**WARNING! RATED M STUFF BELOWWWW! ENJOY!**

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><p>Frustration is normal for John.<p>

After Afghanistan, he had started to notice that his patience wore thin a lot quicker than it did before. It wasn't that he'd become more mean and bitter since he'd been there; he'd just become more aware of time passing. At the moment, there had been something nagging at the back of his mind for a long while. It was the kind of thing that made his mind whirr and his hands ball themselves into fists.

He hadn't had sex with anyone, anyone at all, in almost three years.

It had got to a point where John had even considered hiring a prostitute for the night, but the inevitable concern of the amount of STI's he could catch stopped him. These past few months have been close to torture for him-he really had reached the end of his teather at this point. The amount of times he had masturbated a day had got ridiculous, so ridiculous that he doubted that it was good for his health. His sexual fantasies stretched on throughout the entire day, leaving him embarrassingly turned on in public situations. Every day, his mind would concoct a new scenario to escape to. He could be simply cooking dinner, but in his mind, Sarah was giving him a lap-dance. He could be watching television, but in his imagination, Janette was kissing him senseless.

Washing the dishes? Karen Gillian was on her knees in front of him.

Getting dressed? Angelina Jolie had her hand wrapped around him.

If his imagination was real, then he would either be a serial adulterer or a pimp.

However, there is only one person in his fantasies who actually had sex with him. This person's name was the only one he moaned out while climaxing. He doubted that he would ever say it to this person, but every time...every. Fucking. Time they so much as walked into the room, John felt like he was going to explode if he didn't go near them. Why did this person have to be male? Why did this male have to be his flat mate? And why did his flat mate have to be Sherlock bloody Holmes?! It probably wouldn't have made John so on edge if Sherlock wasn't around him 24/7.

It was a long time ago when John started to notice why people found the detective attractive. Then he started to pick out his favourite features. After not too long, he had started to find it difficult to concentrate whenever Sherlock spoke to him. Then that led to John unconciously lingering outside of Sherlock's door when he heard him getting dressed on the other side of it.

A few months ago was the first time that the good doctor had left the room, seen Sherlock bend over to pick something up out of the corner of his eye, and then step back into the room again just to stare for as long as he could at his arse.

It when got to a point where if Sherlock sat down next to him, John's toes would automatically start curling. It wasn't his fault that he found Sherlock so damn attractive; that halo of dark curls, his perfect cupids-bow, the incredibly chiselled jawline...the list could go on. Despite Sherlock's occasional angelic feature, the sexy ones seemed to lean out to John more. His impossibly slim waist, his perfectly toned arse, those violinist fingers, all the way down to those long legs; Sherlock practically reeked of sex appeal.

When John was called into Buckingham Palace all those months ago, it was bad enough seeing Sherlock with nothing but a bed-sheet on. But when he saw the sheet slip past his waist, John almost doubled-over with desperation. As soon as he got home that day, he locked himself in his room and got himself off. That exposed neck, those clear-cut shoulder blades...Sherlock must've heard John gasp out his name over and over again.

It was a dreary, damp evening when John's patience, and sanity, ran out. He spent the most part of the day turning his room upside-down, trying to find his laptop. Where the hell did he leave it? He had already destroyed most of the living-room trying to find the stupid thing. He probably wouldn't be panicking so much if his internet history was cleaner than it was- God, if anyone saw some of that stuff he'd be _mortified._ Fearing the absolute worst, John stumbled across the corridor, reaching Sherlock's room. He knocked once and opened the door without waiting for a response. 'Have you-' He immediately spun round again so he was facing the corridor. 'Woah, sorry.'

Sherlock looked up at him, his fingers stilling over his slightly unbuttoned shirt, his phone clamped between his teeth. 'No, it's fine.' He mumbled. He abandoned trying to unfasten his shirt and took his phone out of his mouth. 'Did you want anything?'

'Uh...' John coughed and stepped into the room properly, looking anywhere but at the detective. 'I...'

'Speak clearly, John.'

'Have you seen my laptop?' The doctor tried to speak as casually as he could, but couldn't help his voice squeaking part-way through his sentence.

Sherlock concentrated on the screen of his phone. 'Don't know.'

John nodded. 'I'll be off then-'

Sherlock held up one finger, not taking his eyes away from his phone. 'Before you leave, can you do me a favour?'

'What can I do?'

'Can you take my shirt off for me please? I'm trying to focus on this.'

John's mind short-circuited as he tried to comprehend what had just been said to him. 'I'm...sorry?!'

Sherlock sighed irritably. 'I said; could you take my shirt off for me?'

John rubbed one hand over his eyes, his head spinning. 'I don't think I should...'

'It'll only take a second.'

There was no way John could cope with this; his chest was heaving just thinking about it. Sherlock would be standing shirtless in front of him, with John's fingers pulling that shirt away from him.

John went bright red. 'I really don't think I could do that.'

'Please?'

John's mind twisted and turned, feeling dazed. Sherlock Holmes was asking him to take his clothes off for him. He felt his feet slide towards Sherlock heavily. With shaking hands, he began to reach for the item of clothing, before dropping them by his sides again. 'Sherlock-'

Sherlock still didn't look up at him, raising one eyebrow. John sighed inwardly and raised his hands again, this time keeping them there. _Oh God, this is actually happening_. He brought his fingers to the first button Sherlock hadn't unbuttoned yet and paused for a second. Eventually he mustered up enough strength to unfasten it with both hands. His eyes flickered up to see absolutely no reaction on Sherlock's face. John stayed fixated on the taller man's unfazed look, and slid his fingers down to work on the next button. It undid quickly, as if the doctor's hands were made to do this. He continued on until he saw a light dusting of chair hair between the fabric. Without realizing what he was doing, his finger-nails started to trail over it. He saw Sherlock glance at him for a moment and John quickly moved his fingers back to the line of buttons, heat rising to his cheeks. He considered apologizing, but then thought about how awkward the atmosphere would be if he did. He carried on and prayed that Sherlock would assume that John didn't mean it, as he pulled away the next button. And the next. And the next.

Shit, this was stressful. If John didn't leave quickly, he would get beyond turned on standing in front of Sherlock, and then what would he do? He imagined the scenario in his head.

'_John, why the hell are your trousers tenting up while you're undoing my shirt?'_

_'Uh...Would you believe me if I said that I was thinking of someone else?'_

Yeah. Like that would go well. He could only pray that this would be over with quick enough so he could get out of there. Sherlock continued to tap away at his phone, completely oblivious to his flat-mate's heavy breathing and sweating hands. John frantically rubbed his thighs together in a last-ditch attempt to stop himself from losing his cool entirely...

_No, shit, oh, fuck._

John doubled over ever so slightly as he felt his erection growing in his trousers. He looked up at Sherlock, but still saw no reation-he obviously hadn't noticed yet. Fuck, this wasn't good; just looking at him was sending every nerve on fire. He finished undoing the last button and awkwardly un-tucked it from his waistband. John's eyes widened-Jesus, he was seeing everything now...the snail-trail of hair running past his boxers, the indented 'v' that shaped his stomach, pointing down to his crotch...this was going to kill him.

John threw the shirt onto the floor, his hands balling into fists. 'Done.'

'Ah, thank-you. You can go now.'

The doctor's eyes refused to leave Sherlock's chest even when his brain was screaming at him to get out of there. His palms itched to at least press his finger-tips against skin. It would be so easy to press his hand against him and pretend that he'd tripped over something.

John was rock-hard at this point, his arousal painfully restrained by his boxers. This had gone way beyond the point of "think-of-something-else-and-hope-it-goes-away", and reached "oh-god-someone-anyone-please-touch-me" mode. He desperately tried to move away from Sherlock, but his feet stayed still, continuing to ignore John's mind as it frantically commanded them to move.

_Oh god, just leave, just go, just fucking get out before you do something stupid, before..._

John grabbed Sherlock by one of his shoulders and buried his face into his chest, lapping against him hungrily. He heard Sherlock's phone clatter to the floor as the detective stared at him with a look in between fear and confusion. 'What are you doing?!' John scratched his finger-nails down Sherlock's chest, leaving white trials behind. 'John, have you gone _insane?_'

'Yes.' The Doctor mumbled as a reply and stooped down to run his tongue over Sherlock's right nipple, teasing it with his mouth. Sherlock growled and John stopped breathing for a moment. He was turning Sherlock on; he was emitting those soft murmurs of satisfaction from the other man.

'John.' Sherlock hissed through gritted teeth. 'I don't understand why-' He bit his lip as John nibbled gently at him. He put his hand on his shoulder. 'John.' He repeated.

The doctor circled him with the tip of his tongue and then bit him gently, his hand curling across Sherlock's waist. He felt the detective's hand on his hair and the shorter man almost exploded with pride.

'Why are you doing this?' Sherlock asked.

'I...can't stand it...any more.' John replied in between bites. He roughly turned Sherlock around and stooped down even lower, his tongue shooting out to run upwards over his spine. Sherlock's mouth hung open, words failing him. John reached the back of the taller mans neck, the end of Sherlock's curls tickling his nose. He looked up and down, his mouth watering; that neck suddenly looked like a blank canvas that was so desperate to be torn, tattered, ruined. Without thinking, John opened his mouth and dug his teeth into that canvas, decorating it with red signatures. Sherlock's open mouth let out a loud gasp, before chewing on his lip. John looked up, stopping what he was doing. Now _that_ was interesting. He snaked his hand over the front of Sherlock's neck, kissing the back of it gently. The detective closed his eyes and growled again, this time out of frustration. The doctor found himself smiling, barely being able to form his next words;

'Why do you seem so angry, Sherlock?'

'John, I...'

John dropped his voice to a whisper. 'What do you want from me?' He softly grazed his finger-nails across Sherlock's back.

Sherlock shivered and gripped onto Johns shirt from behind him. '_Fuck_, I want you to bite me, John.'

The shorter man grinned. 'Well, since you asked so nicely...' He wet his lips and clung onto Sherlock's neck with his teeth. Sherlock groaned and let his head lull back onto John's shoulder.

'Bite me harder.' Sherlock muttered and John stared at the back of his head. 'I don't give a fuck any more, just hurt me, just do it.'

John rocked his head forward and groaned against Sherlock's shoulder-blades. Every nerve, every particle, every cell clawed for his attention. He obeyed the detective's request, latching onto his neck as hard as his jaw would let him. Sherlock groaned loudly. 'God, John...' He arched his back. 'Jesus fucking Christ...'

John let go. 'Have I discovered a weak spot?'

Sherlock breathed out a 'uh-uh' and dug his nails into John's jumper behind him. 'God, I can't take this any more...' He gasped, spinning round to crush his mouth against John's. They desperately clung onto each other, John's fingers raking through Sherlock's hair to pull him so close that oxygen struggled to get to them. Sherlock accidentally tripped over John's legs, making them both fall to the floor painfully, the doctor straddling the detective. Their kisses became more messy as Sherlock clawed at Johns jumper, fighting for more contact. John's tongue battled for dominance in Sherlock's mouth, throwing off his jumper the rest of the way. The biting started up again, as he sucked, nipped, teased, licked at Sherlock's chest, making the taller man so aroused that he couldn't even look at John without moaning.

John crawled back up so that he was eye-level with Sherlock again. 'Have you ever been in a scenario like this before, Sherlock?'

Sherlock swallowed. 'Not...not in a while.'

'How long is a while?'

'About ten...ten years or so.'

John raised his eyebrows for a moment, nuzzling the side of Sherlock's hair, his mouth against his ear. 'Wanna know the last time I got off?'

Sherlock looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

John carried on without waiting for an answer. 'Last night, thinking of you.'

Sherlock's mouth hung open. 'What?'

John slid his hand down to glide his fingers over Sherlock's waist-band, making him shudder. 'I was imagining you sprawled out on that bed, looking very similar to how you look right now.' He sucked on Sherlock's lower lip before letting go. 'You had one hand underneath the opening of your flies. Your pretty head was tipped back, and you were _begging_ for me, for my hand, for my mouth.' John licked his teeth. 'You look so, so incredible when you're turned on. Imagining you gasping, sweating, losing control makes me climax every time.'

Sherlock squirmed underneath him. 'John.'

'-But I always climax before I see you do the same, in my fantasies. But now you're here, you're beneath me, and I am aching to see you come.' John pushed one knee inbetween Sherlock's legs. 'I want to see you unravel and buckle beneath me. I want to see you you hold on until you can't take it any more, having your first orgasm in ten years because of me.' He started kneading against him.

Sherlock unconsciously wrapped his fingers around John's biceps, heat rising to his cheeks. 'Ah...' He bit his lip. 'That's...'

He raised his hands to unbutton John's shirt as the doctor grinned above him. He tossed it to one side. 'So eager all of a sudden. Where have your manners got to, Mr Holmes?' He pushed his knee in futhur and Sherlock squeaked. John laughed. 'Oh, you sweet boy.' He licked Sherlock's cupids-bow and then bent down to kiss him again, their lips sliding off each other. His hand wandered down again, finger-tips poised on Sherlock's belt. Sherlock gave a slight nod as confirmation and John unbuckled it, continuing to lock lips with him. Sherlock clasped the side of John's head with one hand as he felt his fly being undone by perfectly steady fingers. John's finger-tips passed over the sensitive skin just above Sherlock's arousal and the detective shivered beneath him, biting the inside of his cheek. John's hand travelled lower, his fingers stopping on the detectives erection. Sherlock's mouth dropped open, his brow quivering slightly. 'Hah...'

John's fingers, those skilled fingers, gripped onto Sherlock, running his index finger over his shaft with delicacy.

Sherlock's brow knitted together, his head tipping back. 'Oh...' He let his hand fall so it lay parallel to his ear.

John dropped his authoritative persona for a moment and replaced it with concern. 'Are you okay? Are you alright?'

Sherlock managed a nod. 'Uh-huh.'

John breathed a small sigh of relief. 'Good.' He worked faster, up, down, up, down, up, down...

'What do you want from me, Sherlock?' John growled. 'What do you want me to do?'

Sherlock's mouth no longer had the ability to shut, his jaw permanently hanging open. 'I...'

'Tell me right now; what do you want from me?' John repeated.

'Ah...oh, captain...'

John felt dizzy, blood rushing to his groin at the mention of his title. 'Oh, you good boy...'

Sherlock suddenly felt the sense of power his voice could have over the man above him. He dared himself; 'make me come, John.'

John had almost stopped breathing all together, each word making his hand work faster.

Sherlock's hand automatically gripped onto the back of Johns head, fingers knotting through his hair. His knee slid up to John's crotch, jerking up every so often as a reflex. Johns head fell forward in-between his shoulder-blades as he gasped. 'Fast...learner...' He groaned loudly as he rocked against Sherlock's leg. The friction between them was driving them crazy; the urge to climax suddenly sparking within their abdomens. They _needed _more than this-they needed to touch, feel, know more of each other.

Sherlock's words could only be gasped out at this point, 'fuck...fuck me...'

John stopped moving. 'W...what?'

Sherlock snarled and grabbed onto Johns hair harder, pulling him forward so his breath could wash over him. 'Fuck me. Shag me. Have me...' He leaned in close to John's ear, 'I want to feel you inside me.'

John's eyes widened and his breath came back in shuddery moans. 'Shit...you sure?'

Sherlock nodded. 'Please, John.' He purred.

Johns palms started to sweat as he pulled Sherlock's trousers down the rest of the way, tossing them aside along with the detectives boxers.

Sherlock turned his head as John drank in every centimetre of him in, suddenly feeling beyond self-conscious. He certainly didn't need to feel this way, going by the soft sighs coming from John as he looked at him up and down.

'Perfect...' He uttered, head dipping so his lips brushed against Sherlocks thigh, trailing kisses over it. His mouth edged closer and closer to the taller man's groin with each movement as he trailed his nose over his inner thigh.

Sherlock bit his lip, 'I want you...'

'Mm?' John's tongue shot out for a moment to lick the tip of Sherlock's length.

Sherlock groaned loudly, practically squirming for more, his pleas becoming louder. 'Please, John...' He looked up at him. 'Under my bed, there's...'

John raised his head in speculation, his hand rooting around under Sherlocks bed.

'I thought you never masturbated,' John said, holding the bottle of clear liquid in his hand. 'You're a bad, bad boy.' He leaned forward again, bending Sherlock's knees.

'It's never been opened, I just had it if I ever wanted to experiment, but I never had the need to, so I just kept it under there, I didn't want to throw it away because you never _know!_' Sherlock squeaked as he felt Johns finger running over his entrance, lube dripping inside him.

John smirked, 'like that?'

'I don't know.'

'What about this?' John pushed his finger inside. And then back out. And in. And out.

Sherlocks chest tightened. 'Fuck...' He tipped his head back. 'God, John...'

'Feels good?'

Sherlock managed a nod. John nodded back, moving faster, marvelling at how Sherlocks body reacted to him.

'Hah...I...' Sherlock muttered absolute nonsense to himself, jamming a knuckle in his mouth, eyes closing.

'Can I carry on?'

'Yes, oh please, yes!'

John couldn't stop himself grinning; Sherlock Holmes, the untouchable, the heartless, the machine, who was underneath him and desperatly asking for more of him. He slid in a second finger and slowed down almost completely, moving only ever so slightly in and out.

Sherlocks fist hit the floor out of frustration, growling. 'John...John, I need more...' He raised his hips as a form of plea.

John brought out his fingers and focussed on tugging off his own jeans and boxers.

Sherlocks eyes snapped open at the sudden loss of contact. 'No, no, you can't stop now-'

'I'm not.' John wrapped Sherlocks legs around his waist.

'But you've stopped-'

'Shut. Up.' John placed his hands on the floor either side of Sherlocks head, and then pushed himself inside of him. They both almost shut down entirely, the pang of electricity burning and filling them up. All they could do was let out long, drawn-out groans of satisfaction. After a few moments, John regained enough mental strength as he started rolling his hips, pulling himself out only to push back in again harder.

Sherlock sucked in air through his teeth, his whole body starting to ache. John moaned as he tried to establish a rhythm-going by the uncomfortable sounding grunts, he figured that Sherlock was in close to agony at this point. He tried a different technique; twisting himself in and out, rotating his hips, burying himself in and out further until...

'Oh, _fuck!_' Sherlock cried out as John hit the bundle of nerves he barely even knew exsisted until now. His grunts quickly turned into loud moans, starting to unsteadily unravel beneath John. The doctor slammed into him over and over again, the thought and sensation of being enveloped by Sherlock over-whelming him. The air around them was fast becoming scarce, the oxygen heated and difficult to come by. Sherlock gasped for the breath he kept losing, moaning out a only slightly coherent, 'more...I need more...'

John raised Sherlocks hips higher, throwing his rhythm out of the window to replace it with slamming his pelvis against Sherlock's arse, almost screaming for more contact, for more to bury himself into, for more, more, _more..._

Sherlocks mouth hung open, long, rich moans pouring out of his throat. His legs tightened around Johns waist as he let out shaky confirmations and begs for John to continue, to go faster, to fuck him harder. He felt on fire with want, the urge to release pooling through his abdomen. 'J...John...' He stopped part-way through to groan loudly. 'I'm...I'm going to...'

'Me...Too.'

'I can't, hold, it...'

'Not yet...don't come yet!'

Sherlock pulled all his attention into holding it; above him, John's groans had become almost screams of pleasure as he buried himself impossibly deeply inside him. They both were so filled with the desperate need to climax that they were almost numb; their senses were dimmed, and all they could feel was the intense build up of lust pumping through them. John kept hitting that electric bundle of nerves, each thrust being infinitely better than the last one.

The detective's eyes widened, his hands balling into fists. 'John!' He choked out, 'please let me!'

John screwed his eyes shut, dipping his head. 'Y...yeah...'

Sherlock's back arched and screamed out Johns name, wave after wave of pleasure hitting him before he could even begin to think. After a second John joined him, his mouth dropping open as he cried out a string of nonsense, pulses of his orgasm swelling up and pouring out of him.

For a long time all they could do was breathe in shuddery gasps, shaking. John collapsed against Sherlocks chest, his breathing starting to slowly level out. 'That...' He tried to speak, but was so out of breath that he could barely even form the words he wanted to say. 'That was...so...amazing...' He uttered out.

Sherlock nodded. 'Why...why have we never done this before?'

'You tell me.' John raised his head, before cupping Sherlocks face in his hands and kissing him.

After they parted, Sherlock looked at him and smiled. 'It's in the kitchen.'

John frowned. 'What?'

'Your laptop. It's in the kitchen.'

John cracked a smile, and then a laugh, and then punched Sherlocks arm.


	50. You, yourself, Yours

**Writing experiment tiiimme...is...is it okay if I just explain this to you guys? You can skip this if you don't want to hear me get soppy, it's cool.**

**...There are no words that can describe or convey just how much you guys have done. You have...no idea how much of an impact you've made in my life. I'm not always the happiest person in the world, as anyone who's met me knows, and you guys have given me a reason to keep going no matter what happens. I know that sounds so, so dumb-I mean, cmon, it's just fanfic, but seriously. There are hundreds of you liking what I'm doing, and that is just...phenomenal. Because I can't write an individual story for each of you to say thanks, I've done this. It's not much, but it's the best I can do.**

**I love you so, so much.**

**No homo.**

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><p>The harsh light of your laptop screen hurts your eyes slightly as you suddenly realize how tired you are. Just a couple more photos, you say to yourself, as you press the forward key on your keyboard, viewing the photo in front of you for a moment. After a while you yawn and rub the back of your neck with your free hand-it's late, but you want to review on today's event. The screen flicks to another photo and you can't help but smile to yourself; the bride looks beautiful in this one. And in the next one as well. You roll your eyes when you realize that your eyes are closed in the group photo. Never mind; it's not like you're meant to even be there in the first place.<p>

There's a knock on your bedroom door and you tell the person on the other side to come in. Your lodger steps inside. He looks at you up and down.

'You look tired.'

You nod. 'Yeah-you try being on your feet all day, dancing terribly.'

Your friend shrugs and walks over to your bed, flopping down onto it. 'Did you enjoy it?'

'Mm. It was surprisingly good fun.'

'Did you think the bride was nice?'

You pull an approving face, nodding again. 'Yeah-she seems pleasant; very pretty as well.'

'...How was he?'

'Who?'

'You know who.'

You pause, looking away. 'Sherlock...' You rub your forehead with one hand. 'You could've had come with me.'

'You know perfectly well that I couldn't. You offered to go for me.'

'I know, I know.' You sigh deeply. 'He seems fine.'

Sherlock sits up. 'Is he happy? Did he look happy with Mary?'

You swivel round in your chair so you can face him. 'Yes.'

Sherlock looks at his lap. 'Okay. I'm happy for him.'

'No you're not.' You say. Sherlock doesn't respond so you carry on. 'I know that you were secretly wishing that he hated the thought of getting married, and dumped Mary at the alter.'

Sherlock looks away, focusing on your bedroom wall. 'I never said that.'

'You've been running from house to house for months now-why have you settled at mine for so long?' You ask, although you know the answer.

Sherlock pauses. 'Because you're the only one who understood why I'm so interested in him.'

'Yeah. I can't believe you convinced me to go to his wedding-I don't even know him.'

'But I had to know if he was okay.'

'Then why didn't you go yourself?!' You say, losing your patience with him.

'You know why!'

'Listen to yourself! You're not even daring to say his name any more!'

Sherlock goes quiet again, looking slightly hurt.

Your shoulders sag, suddenly feeling bad for him. 'Sorry.' Sherlock nods and you continue. 'I know you miss him. It must be tough for you.'

'Yeah.' Sherlock says simply.

You look away. '...He mentioned you.'

Sherlock blinks up at you, confused. 'What?'

'He said that you should be there. He mentioned you in his speech.' You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. 'Mary didn't seem too happy with that.'

Sherlock smiles ever so slightly. 'I see.'

It was almost as if she'd heard it all before...as if he talks about you a lot to her.'

The detective's smile grows; something you hadn't seen before on him. 'He still thinks about me...'

'Don't get any ideas.'

'I know, but still...I'm still somewhere in his life.'

'Of course. I don't think you'll ever leave him.'

Sherlock bites the inside of his lip and stares down at his hands, picking away at his nails. '...I did though, didn't I?'

You shake your head. 'It's not like you had a choice, though.'

'But I still did.' Sherlock rakes a hand through his hair, looking worried. 'I should've found a way. I should still be with him...'

'Sherlock, there's nothing else you could have done, and you know it. You're just beating yourself up because you miss him.' You both go quiet, before you take a deep breath, unsure whether to tell Sherlock or not. '...Mary mentioned something.'

'Hmm?'

You hesitate, half-expecting Sherlock to burst into tears. '...I think she's...' You sigh. 'Her belly's a bit...'

Sherlock's eyes dip. 'She's pregnant.'

'Yeah. She and him are expecting the baby by the end of the year. Guess it'll kind of ruin the wedding night a bit, but...'

Sherlock cracks a slight smile. 'Was it planned?'

'I assume so. They had the scan a few weeks ago. They think it's a boy.'

'Any names yet?'

'If you think they're considering a name as ridiculous as "Sherlock" then you might want to prepare yourself for disappointment. But, yeah, they've got a few names floating about-most of them are pretty boring.'

'Can you remember any of them?'

You narrow your eyes at the ceiling, trying to think back. 'I overheard her saying some of them...There was defiantly a Steven, and a Martin. I'm pretty sure there was...Ben? I think. Oh, and Mark.'

'Have they not got a favourite yet?'

'Yeah. Arthur.'

'Arthur...' Sherlock rolls the name around on his tongue. 'Sounds good.'

'I think they've got a middle name sorted as well.'

'Oh?'

You bite the inside of your lip, excited to say the next word. 'Milton.'

Sherlock's head snaps up to face you. 'But...'

'Yeah.' You smile.

Sherlock's eyes shine. 'But that's my middle name.'

'I know.'

'...They're...' Sherlock grins, slightly lost in his thoughts.

'-Still thinking about you.' You swallow, worried of what you're about to say. '...Sherlock.'

'Mm?'

'Do you...' you look at him, 'do you love him?'

Sherlock looks at you for a long time, before pursing his lips and looking away. You suddenly feel a stab of guilt. 'I'm sorry.' You say. 'But I have to ask.'

'I don't know.'

'Huh?'

'I don't know if I love him. I...think I do, but I...' He sighs. 'I barely even know what love is, let alone how you feel if you're in it.'

You suddenly see him differently. All this time, you had just thought that he chose not to feel out of spite, or some ulterior motive. And now you see it. Sherlock Holmes doesn't feel because he can't. He doesn't know how. You bite the inside of your cheek. 'That's...kinda heart-breaking.'

'Is it?'

'Yeah-you've never loved another human being before and you're in your thirties.'

'My age shouldn't be an issue in this.'

'No, it's not-I'm just saying that you...' Your shoulders sag. 'Never mind. It wasn't important anyway.'

'What?' He sits up, curious. 'What is it?'

'It's just that...you've never had love, and when you've found it, it's been taken away from you. It's sad.'

Sherlock sits back slowly, hugging a knee to his chest. 'I miss him.'

'...Call him.'

He looks at you, eyes wide. 'Are you _stupid?!_ He thinks I'm dead! How can I phone him! He's probably on his honeymoon now...'

'Then leave a message at the flat.'

'Oh, and give him a bloody heart-attack when he comes back?! Yeah, great idea.' He sighs, clearly both distressed and annoyed.

You shake your head. 'Then what are you gonna do? When are you gonna go back to him?'

'Never!' Sherlock snaps. 'I can't go back now-he's moved on, he's married, he has an unborn child! He doesn't need some...mechanic, depressed detective to look after!'

You blink at him, slightly in shock. '...I'm sorry? Depressed?'

Sherlock shakes his head and stands. 'I don't want to talk about it.'

'No, what?' You stand up, blocking his path. 'You're depressed?'

'I said-I don't want to talk about it.'

You grab his arm without thinking. 'Why didn't you tell me?!'

'Because it's none of your bloody business, it's not important!'

'What the hell, Sherlock! This is your mental health!'

He swallows and looks away. 'Let go of my arm.'

'How depressed are we talking? Are you...I dunno, a danger to yourself?'

'I said let go of my arm.'

'Are...Are you self-harming, or suicidal, or-'

Sherlock yanks his arm away from you. 'Leave it. I don't want to talk about it any more.'

You pause, before looking at the ground. 'It's because you miss him. There's no other reason, is there? That's why you're depressed-it's because you can't have him!'

'Just stop it, alright!' Sherlock barks, clearly angry. 'I'm here because I have to be, not because I want to, so please, just leave me alone!' He shoves past you, snarling.

_Dammit...come on, think! _

You stand still-the sense of power in your next move is almost impossible to ignore.

You slide your hand onto your desk and, in one fluid movement, pick up your phone and hold it out to him.

He stares down at it, and you stare back at him.

'Call him.'

He rolls his jaw, his defences crumbling. He looks at you through his brow, sighing heavily. '...Bloody hell.' He mutters, snatching the phone off you and darting downstairs. You can't help but smile, a huge grin spreading across your face. You've won this round. He'll get you back, though.

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><p><strong>oh, by the way, 50th chapter WOOOO.<strong>

**And two-hundred-and-something reviews WOOOOOO.**

**You guys are awesome. -freeze frame high-five-**


	51. Christmas Traditions

**Merry Christmas my darlings! Hope you had a lovely, lovely day! Bit OOC, as per usual, but hey-it's Christmas :D **

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><p>Everyone has their own holiday traditions. Whether it's listening to their relative play Christmas songs on the guitar, or watching their old copy of the 'Nightmare before Christmas' with their parents. Sherlock and Mycrofts family had the tradition of listening to the two brothers do a piano and violin duet of 'God rest ye merry gentlemen'. For John and his family, Christmas meant curling up on the sofa and watching Doctor who.<p>

Now they'd moved in together, Christmas had altered to a new set of traditions. John would always wake up first and stick the kettle on. Sherlock would emerge a little while later with his hair a mess and his eyes only half open. As soon as Sherlock was able to will himself awake, they would both walk downstairs to Speedys Café next door to order two mince pies to eat in. Then there would be presents in the evening and Doctor Who on the television, much to Sherlocks annoyance.

However, they also have a tradition that seems rather odd. They never talk about it. It's never mentioned. They don't plan it. Christmas is the one day of the year where Sherlock and John are allowed to touch. They're allowed to hug, hold each other, know one another physically. They never get too intimate-they've never kissed each other or anything. They just act as a couple for one day.

Sherlock was the one who started it. He started it off one Christmas a few years ago by resting his hand over Johns during their Christmas dinner. The doctor didn't really know how to react to it-he just stared at their hands for a while, before continuing to eat in silence. Maybe he should have said something to him, then he would have got some form of explanation for it. It began with the hand-holding, then things just sort of...escalated from then on. John never really questioned it-maybe he liked the absent-minded hugs and pecks on the top of his head. Sherlock is surprisingly physical when he's given the choice, it seems. It never seemed appropriate for John to question it. He didn't want it to stop, and he felt like if he brought it up it would stop it from happening. He enjoyed Sherlock craving his company, even if it was only for a day.

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><p>As always, John woke up first, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He sat up in bed, mentally hitting himself for smiling to himself; he's a grown man, and he's grinning like an idiot just because of the day of the year. What a child. He stood up out of bed and dressed quickly. No snow yet, thank god. He wasn't a fan of cold weather-he wasn't used to it like he was with hot weather. Afghanistan does that to you. He shuffled downstairs to the kitchen, boiling the kettle. Sherlock normally wakes up to that noise-it's like an alarm clock for him.<p>

Sure enough, John heard footsteps walking towards the kitchen. Two arms wrapped around his waist, making the doctor smile and look up. _Well, this is new. _

_'_Good morning.'

Sherlock smiled lazily and kissed the top of his head. 'Merry Christmas.'

'Ah-you remembered.'

'Of course. Why would I forget?'

'You did one year. You only remembered when the radio started playing that Slade song.'

Sherlock shrugged and nuzzled into Johns neck. 'My memory's strange.'

'I know.' John stirred his tea. 'Coffee?'

'Love some.'

'Great.' He reached out his arms and paused. 'Uh.'

'What?'

'You're making it kind of difficult to move.'

Sherlock grinned and held onto him tighter. 'Deal with it-I'm not going anywhere.'

'Right.' John sighed and reached for the kettle again and almost lost his balance. 'Oh, Jesus!'

The detective laughed. 'You alright?'

'Oh, I'm fine. Don't worry about me.' He poured water in it, splashing his sleeve. 'Bollocks.'

'Language, doctor.'

'Shut your face. Where have you put the coffee.'

'Bottom shelf.'

'...With the cleaning stuff?'

'Correct.'

John growled irritably. 'Why did you put it there?'

'I thought it was the right place.'

'Oh yeah. Coffee definitely lives in the same place as the bin-bags.' He hesitated, trying to lean forward. 'Can't you at least move back?'

'No.'

'Thought not.' The doctor reached out his arms before bending down awkwardly.

Sherlock shuffled. 'Your arse is rubbing against my crotch.'

John turned red with embarrassment. 'Sherlock!'

'Sorry, I'm just saying.'

'Well, don't.' John sighed again with frustration and straightened up, toeing the cupboard under the sink open with his shoe. 'You're such an inconvenience.'

'Thank-you very much.'

'It wasn't a compliment.' John rolled his eyes and bent down, wincing. 'Oh Jesus-there goes my damn back.'

Sherlock laughed and kissed his shoulder. 'You're so old.'

'Charming. I'm only a few years older than you.'

'Still old.'

John wrinkled his nose, spooning the coffee into a mug. 'You're so rude.'

'Oi-be nice.'

The doctor smiled, biting his lip. 'You're lucky I like you.'

Sherlock suddenly went still, still holding onto him. There was a beat of silence between them. 'I'm...sorry?'

John swallowed. 'I said I liked you.'

'I know what you said-I wanted more elaboration on that.'

The shorter man hesitated; what _did_ he mean by that? He didn't fancy him, did he?

'...Uh.'

'Very well said John. Now I understand completely.'

'Shut your face. I just...I just say stuff without meaning anything.'

Sherlock paused. '...I see.' He let go of John, walking away towards the living room.

_Dammit!_

John finished stirring Sherlocks coffee, placing it on the table. 'What were you implying?'

Sherlock pursed his lips, not touching his mug. 'Nothing, John. Nothing at all.'

'You sound annoyed with me.'

'I'm not.'

'Yes you are. You're not even looking at me.'

'I'm fine-just, just leave it, alright?'

* * *

><p>The rest of the day past in a slightly uncomfortable manner. Sherlock didn't touch John for the majority of the rest of it. They spoke, sure. but it just...wasn't the same. He always looked forward to Christmas to feel Sherlocks touch, and now he'd screwed that up. They didn't speak about anything exciting either; they even resorted to talking about the weather at some point. Their visit to the café was quiet as they ate in silence, their heads down, barely acknowledging each other. Needless to say, it felt strange.<p>

It was the evening when they finally spoke properly to each other. It was John who was the first one to swallow down his pride as he stepped into the living room. Sherlock looked up from watching television from the sofa, one eyebrow raised expectantly at him. John looked back at him, before coughing and looking at the screen. 'What are you watching?'

'Some film that was on TV. It's a bit crap.'

'Ah.' John paused, watching Hugh Grant wave in front of 10 Downing Street. 'I think I've seen this before.'

Sherlock nodded. 'There's a character who looks a bit like you in this.'

'Huh?'

'He's got darker hair though.'

'Oh. Cool.' John looked back at Sherlock, glancing at the space next to him. 'Do you...mind if I...?'

Sherlock blinked at him, pausing. John half expected him to start screaming at him. Instead he shrugged and scooted up the sofa. 'Go ahead.'

The doctor smiled and sat back on the sofa. He waited for a moment, before shuffling closer to the other man and leaning against his chest. Sherlock stared down at him for a moment, frowning slightly. Eventually he sighed quietly and wrapped an arm around his waist. 'This film is dull.'

'I've seen worse. The actors are pretty good.'

'I suppose.' Sherlock tilted his head at the screen. 'Who's that actor that's in that wizard film?'

'Alan Rickman.' John paused, before chuckling quietly.

'What?'

'Nothing. Just..."that wizard film".'

Sherlock smiled, and then blushed slightly. 'Shut up.'

'Never.'

'Thought you were going to say that.'

They both sat in silence, before John bit his lip. '...Sherlock?'

'Mm?'

The doctor swallowed, unsure of whether to bring the subject up or not. '...Is there any reason...'

Sherlock looked down at him. 'Yes, John?'

'Is there any reason why...every Christmas, you...'

'...I what?'

Johns shoulders sagged, smiling to himself. 'Nothing.'

'Nothing?'

'It's nothing. It's not important right now.' John leaned closer towards him. Merry Christmas, Sherlock.'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, slightly confused. He shrugged it off after a while. 'Merry Christmas, John.'

He didn't have to question why Sherlock did this every Christmas. After all, he could always ask next year.


	52. Silence

**...**

**-sneaks into fanfiction and chucks an update into the wind- IM SO SORRY I HAVENT UPDATED PLEASE DON'T HURT ME.**

**(set during series 2 episode 2)**

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><p>'Hey.'<p>

Silence.

'Sherlock?'

Silence.

'You still awake?'

Silence.

John sighed and stared up at the ceiling, going quiet again. This whole case had been bloody mental-murdered father, mysterious moor, ravenous dog...the whole thing sounded awfully fishy to him.

'Sherlock, are you asleep?'

Silence.

Typical. The one time John has something to say about a case and the detective's fast asleep. He glanced at the back of his head before looking up at the ceiling again. He expected this night to be a lot more awkward than it played out to be-those damn pub owners had booked he and Sherlock in one double room instead of two singles, much to the anger of John. Sherlock didn't think that it was too much of a problem and glided into the room with his stupid collar sticking up, leaving John to lug both of their suitcases behind him.

They had an early night. Shoes kicked off. Pyjama bottoms on. Slide in bed. Opposite ends of it. Backs to each other. No touching. No talking.

John had been lying there unable to sleep for what felt like hours. He didn't know what was keeping him awake more-the noise of his watch ticking to remind him of the minutes he hadn't been asleep, or the feeling of someone being in bed next to him. It had been a while since he'd had someone sleep beside him. It's not like he felt truly disgusted or anything; he just felt kind of...odd. He felt like he should be sleeping on the floor or something. Sherlock probably didn't think anything of it. He probably thought it was perfectly normal for two male friends to share a double bed with each other. He wished he could be as relaxed as the detective was.

'Sherlock, you awake?'

Silence again.

John nodded to himself as if he'd replied. 'Okay-I'll stop asking.'

Another pause.

John checked his watch, sighing and rubbing his eyes with one hand when he read the time. Was there even any point in trying to sleep now? It was already way past midnight, and they both had to be up at a reasonable hour to investigation. Oh well-he could sleep in in another lifetime. He looked at the beck of Sherlocks head again. He found himself smiling slightly. How did get his hair so fluffy all the time? He must condition the hell out of it. John swallowed; why was he even thinking about this? He shook his head and looked away again.

'I had a strange urge to stroke your hair just now. Just thought you'd like to know.'

Silence. Sherlock started snoring loudly.

'Yeah, that's what I thought too.' John spoke quietly so he didn't wake him up. '...It's...kinda nice, talking to you like this. You're unable to make any snide comments back or talk back to me.' He yawned, covering his mouth. 'Excuse me. I haven't slept much this night;not sure why. Maybe I've still got adrenaline from the case or something.' He went quiet again, not of what else to say. Eventually he found his voice again. '...Listen, speaking of the case, you know that guy we bumped into in the lab? Bob-something. I think he's hiding something. I don't know why, but don't you think he's kind of...in-your-face? I don't know. Maybe it's just me.' He rested his hands behind his head. 'And what's with those pub owners downstairs? I think I found something when we first arrived here when I was ordering the pints. I'll show you tomorrow morning.'

Sherlock snuffled in his sleep and John smiled. 'Aw. That was kind of sweet. You sounded like a dog then.' He paused. '...A nice dog. Not a creepy, red-eyed killer. Sorry, that probably wasn't the best animal to use in that analogy.' He stopped talking for a moment, listening to his watch tick. '...Clocks are pointless at night,' John wandered aloud, 'you can't check the time when you're asleep, and when you're awake it makes you paranoid of the time you've spent trying and failing to sleep. Maybe it's just me who thinks like that. Some people find ticking kind of relaxing. It reminds me of bombs.' He smiled slightly, changing the subject completely. '...It's always easier speaking to someone when you can't see them directly, isn't it? Like, you're less scared of their reactions. I guess that's why you hear of people breaking up by text all the time. Heartless bastards.' John paused again before tilting his head. 'Actually, I can't really say that. I once dumped a girl via e-mail. She wasn't too happy about that. I guess I'm a heartless bastard as well.'

Sherlock stopped snoring, breathing heavily instead. John nodded as if in agreement. 'Thank god for that. I was about to go deaf there. I don't think I've ever heard someone snore so loudly, and I've slept in bunks with big stocky army blokes.' He frowned to himself. 'What was I talking about again? Oh yeah-talking to people without seeing them.' He took his hands away from behind his head, snuggling further down into the duvet. '...Listen.' He hesitated. '...Actually, don't listen. Ignore me. I have nothing to say to you that'll require your attention anyway.' He swallowed, his voice going soft. 'You never really listen to me. That's fine. I don't mind. I've kind of got used to it. Your silence when I speak to you has become kind of comforting.' John went quiet again, listening to his heartbeat. '...I'm kind of...I'm kind of glad that we're in this situation. Not just the whole detective thing, but the double bed thing as well. I was annoyed when we were first given this room, admittedly. It's normally embarrassing sharing a bed with a male friend, but sharing it with you feels...okay.' He bit his lip. 'It's a bit different than how I imagined it to be.' He went still, just realizing what he had said. After staring up at the ceiling with a slightly open mouth, he relaxed his shoulders and sighed heavily. 'I can't believe I said that out loud. Thank christ you can't hear me right now.' He pursed his lips, daring himself to carry on talking. '...I've...kind of imagined what you'd be like if you were someone's boyfriend. God, that sounds so weird, doesn't it?' He shuffled, trying to get more comfortable. 'I always imagine you to be very clingy if you were in a relationship. Like, you'd always want to be hugged or touched in some way by your partner. You'd be moody, of course, and definitely argumentative, standing your ground whenever you had the chance to.' He smiled to himself. 'I imagine that you'd be a bit like a cat as well-lying on your partners lap and demanding that they stroke your hair or run their finger-tips up and down your neck until you fall asleep.' John swallowed and nodded to himself. 'Yeah. Something like that I guess...I think about that kind of stuff a lot. I try not to, honest, but sometimes, I just...let my mind slip.' He turned to look at the back of Sherlock's head again. 'I think you'd be a good boyfriend. Difficult, yeah, but good.' He leaned his hand towards Sherlock's hair before stopping himself suddenly. 'Gods sake.' He turned away and looked back up at the ceiling. 'I sound like a love-struck teenager. I guess I am. Love-struck. Not a teenager.' He sighed. '...You are an absolute arse sometimes; in fact, most of the time if I'm gonna be honest. But that factor kind of makes you...' He closed his eyes for a moment before speaking again, '...makes you more brilliant to me.' He shook his head. 'God, I'm pathetic. I'm glad you can't hear me right now.'

'...Yeah.'

John froze completely, not daring to look anywhere but at the ceiling. Complete and utter silence flooded the room and clogged up Johns ears and filled his chest, making him stop breathing. His fists clenched, trying desperately to think of what to do, what to say next. His mouth went dry and his tongue felt heavy and all he could think of was wishing that the ground would swallow him up. His voice had never felt so shaky and croaky in his life.

'H...how long have you been awake?'

'All night.' Sherlocks voice answered back softly.

'What, you never slept?'

'Correct.'

'...You pretended to _snore?!'_

'Indeed I did.'

'Why did you even do that?'

'It added effect.'

'Jesus Christ, I fucking hate you.'

'You clearly don't-you were stating your undenying love to me a few moments ago.'

John flushed red with embarrassment, turning away from him. 'Shut up. I can't believe I told you that.'

'No.' Sherlock replied quickly. He paused, before he sighing heavily. 'No, it's fine. I didn't mean to insult you.'

'That makes a change. Christ, what have I done...'

'Nothing.'

John frowned to himself, suddenly sounding angry. '_Nothing?!_' He found himself raising his voice, sitting up. 'I just told you that I'm passionately in love with you-'

'-You never used those words exactly.'

'And you're telling me that it's nothing?! My god, your perspective of things is really screwed up.'

'Stop raising your voice-you're gonna wake up everybody in the west country if you keep going.'

'I don't care!' John replied, lowering his voice anyway. 'Why are you shrugging this off?'

'I'm not.'

'You definitely are.'

'Can you lie back again, please-you're making the bed move.'

John cursed under his breath, flopping back down onto the mattress heavily. 'Happy now?'

'Thank you.'

Another beat of silence between them.

Sherlock was the first one to speak. 'How long?'

John blinked up at the ceiling. 'Huh?'

'How long have you...' John heard the detective swallow. '...had feelings for me?'

John screwed his eyes shut and turned away again. 'Shut up.'

'That's not an answer.'

'I don't want to talk about it.'

'Why not?'

'Because it's really fucking embarrassing!'

'Oh, get over yourself and tell me.'

The doctor opened his mouth in an attempt to make some sort of comeback before closing it again. 'A while.'

'What an accurate time-frame.'

'Stop it.'

'Come on-please grace me with a proper answer.'

'Why are you so curious?'

'Once again, that is not an answer.'

'For Gods sake!' John rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, his patience starting to tick over. After a moment he swallowed his pride and breathed out deeply. 'If I had to stamp a date on it,' he muttered, 'I'd say that this all started about a month after I met you.'

Sherlock stayed quiet for a while. John felt his face burning up-why him?! Why did he always get the embarrassing stuff happen to him? That'll teach him not to keep his mouth shut. He ran a hand through his hair, his ear straining in the silence. It had never seemed more loaded and deafening before. He almost felt like screaming into the darkness; _why isn't he saying anything? Why isn't he angry and screaming at me right now? _John shuffled uncomfortably-maybe this is all a dream. A terrible nightmare that he was going to wake up from in a few seconds.

'...Okay.'

John was shaken out of his thoughts. 'What?'

'Okay.'

'Is that you all have to say?! _"_Oh Sherlock I love you and I fantasize about us being together" "Oh, that's cool, I'll go back to sleep now".'

'Jesus Christ, John. Stop being such a drama-queen and calm down!'

'What is wrong with you? Why aren't you angry with me? You're an asexual who doesn't-'

'-Gay.'

John shut up and stared at him for a while. He frowned. 'Huh?'

'I'm gay.'

'No you're not.'

'I'm pretty sure that I am.'

'You're not! You don't do relationships.'

'I don't find the idea of relationships to be particularly wonderful, but I'm not opposed to them.'

'Since when were you gay? I thought that you like Ire-'

'-Irene Adler certainly turned my head, as it were. It was nothing more than an admiration of her intellect.'

'Yeah right.' John felt himself relaxing a bit more. 'So, have you ever had a boyfriend then?'

'Not really, no.'

'Then how do you know if you're gay if you've never been in a relationship?'

'...Because I look at attractive men and I get excited.'

John felt himself blushing slightly. 'I see.'

'Mm.'

'...I have no idea what I am.'

'Bisexual?'

'I don't know. I mean, I've had one night stands with men before, but I didn't really feel anything for them.'

'Just go with whatever you want to, I guess. You don't have to fit into a box.'

John nodded in agreement. 'True.'

Once again, they went quiet. John listened to his watch tick before he heard Sherlock speak up.

'What attracted you to me?'

John laughed without humour. 'How long have you got?'

'Answer the question.'

'...Well, I don't really know where to start...I guess I first noticed your hair.'

'People always say that about me.'

'It's so curly. It's similar hair to...what are those fat angelic boys with wings called?'

'Cherubs?'

'Yeah, them. You have the same hair as them.'

'Ah.'

'...So that's the first thing I noticed about you. Then I noticed your voice.'

'My voice?'

'Yeah-it's so deep. It's like a damn bass drum.'

'Stop with the odd similes, John.'

'Sorry. You get what I mean though, don't you?'

'Yes...I think.'

John smiled. 'Shut up.'

'No.' Sherlock smirked before becoming serious again. 'Anything else you noticed about me?'

'I don't know. Your intelligence is obviously very prominent as well, but so's your appearance. It's very striking..._you're _very striking.' John chewed on his lip. 'I...always thought that you were incredible. You've never seized to amaze me; whether that be with intelligence or appearance or whatever. Sorry, I'll stop talking now.' John went quiet and waited for Sherlock to start laughing at him or something.

'...I noticed your height first.' The detective muttered.

John froze. '...Wait...'

'-Your height has always amused me to no end. I noticed your limp as well, as you already know. It's not exactly a very romantic thing to notice, but that's just the way it goes.'

John slowly raised his head. 'Wait, where's this going? What are you talking about?'

'You know exactly what I'm talking about.' Sherlock snapped, making John jump slightly.

'I...I don't understand though.'

The detective sighed heavily. 'You never do.'

'Oi-I'm not thick, you know.'

'Really? I would never have guessed.'

'...What are you saying?'

'I'm saying that you're tremendously dense, that's what.'

'You say that all the bloody time, and every time I just shrug it off, but this time we're talking about something emotional and moving, and yet you still feel the need to insult me! I'm sick of it!'

'It's not my fault that you're so damn stupid.'

'Stop it! I'm not stupid and you know it. Why would you have hired me if I wasn't intelligent?'

'Well maybe I just felt sorry for you!'

Johns mouth dropped open in shock. They never normally throw insults at each other this carelessly. Granted they did bicker an awful lot, they never bit each other with aspersion like this. They both fell into a heavy an uncomfortable silence, waiting for some sort of God-send to snap the tension in half.

'...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.'

'No shit.'

'I'm just a bit tense in this kind of scenario.'

'What, so you take it out on me?'

'Who else am I going to take it out on?'

'No one! This is not a situation to be angry about!'

'Oh, well you obviously seem to be coping very well in this situation!'

John opened his mouth to argue back but closed it again when he realized that Sherlock was right. '...I hate it when we argue.'

John heard Sherlock sigh. '...I know.'

The doctor turned round to look at the back of Sherlock's head once again. 'Why haven't you turned to face me throughout this entire conversation?'

Sherlock didn't answer.

'Sherlock.'

'I don't need to face you.'

'But I want you to.'

'I can hear you fine facing this way.'

'Yeah, I know you can, I just want to see you.'

'There's no need for me to.'

'Why don't you have to face me?'

'I have no reason to-'

'...You've been crying, haven't you?'

Sherlock swallowed loudly and cleared his throat. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

John lifted his head, not taking his eyes off him. 'Oh Christ, you really have been crying.'

'Stop talking.'

'Why the hell are you crying? You never show even the slightest hint of emotion! You barely even bloody smile at the best of t-'

'Just drop it John!' Sherlock barked, making the hair on the back of Johns neck stand on end. 'I don't want to talk about this any more!'

John blinked at him. 'Talk about what?'

'This! I don't want to talk about you and I any more!'

'Why?'

Silence.

'Sherlock?!'

Silence.

'No, come on-don't do this.'

Silence.

'Please answer me.'

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.


End file.
